Dark Lady
by RogueMudblood
Summary: Bella thought that Edward's leaving was the end of her world. As it turned out, it was just the beginning of a new life. She travels back to her roots to fulfill a singular destiny. In embracing the dark magic that has come into her life, will she still be allowed to have the man she comes to love? Or will she be forced to eventually destroy him?
1. I: Bella

__Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Twilight. I make no profit from this work of fiction.__

AN: Story is adopted from Violet Voltori. I endeavor to do it justice. This chapter shall consist of the story through chapter three, ****re-written****. Some elements (minor ones) will change, in favor of time line.

To make that perfectly clear, ****I ****wrote the content in this story. If you would like to view the original to compare, you can search for it under the title "The Dark Lady" by Violet Voltori.

While this is AU, as crossovers are by definition, I shall attempt to keep it as close to in character as possible.

__As with all authors, I appreciate feedback. Though, if all you have to say is "ugh" please at least convey what exactly was "ugh" to you. I cannot improve without specifics. __

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><p>My body was wracked with sobs. I could hear my wretched cries echoing off the walls. When he left, Edward Cullen wrenched my very soul from me. I could feel the aches in my ribs and wondered when I would no longer have tears to shed. My throat was raw from having voiced my anguish for so long.<p>

As my thoughts were centered only on my own grief, I almost did not hear my benefactor enter.

"Bella." His sharp tone cut through my cries, and I looked up from my tear-soaked pillow to stare at him. "You've hardly eaten for the past few days. You've barely left your room. You're a wreck, hon." He placed a canvas bag next to me on the bed. "Pack. You have a plane leaving in three hours. It's time for you to go home."

"You're going to send me _away_?" I was shocked. Surely he would take care of me in my time of need. Surely he would not force me to leave the only place I had known as home. He shook his head at me, sighing.

"That's the first time in a month that you've shown any amount of fire, Bells. I'd love to have you stay. You know that. But you're wasting away. You got too invested in him." I nodded. Accepting his words was difficult, but even I was aware that I had given far too much of my identity up in pursuing Edward. "When you're ready to come back, you're always welcome," he said softly.

I stood on shaky legs and crossed to him, wrapping my arms around him tightly. "I know, Charlie. Thank you."

Giving me a sad smile as he pulled back, Charlie patted my back gently. "Do you need help packing?" I shook my head. "Okay then." He looked down at me, his brow furrowed with confusion briefly before he pulled me tightly to him once more. The whiskers of the day's growth of stubble tickled my cheek briefly before I felt the wetness of his own tears mingling with the ever-present tracks on my face. "I'll miss you, Bells."

I hugged him back as tightly as I could. "I know, Charlie. Me too." I pulled back from him gently, smiling sadly. "I suppose you'll have to install a fireplace."

He smiled, chuckling lightly as he released me. "That is how they make phone calls, isn't it?" I grinned as I stepped back. He seemed as lost as I felt as he stepped closer to the doorway. His hand rested lightly on the doorknob, tapping it with his fingers. "I'll … I'll let you pack, then." He left then, straightening his shoulders as he stepped into the hall. I watched him as he walked away, ready to stay if his shoulders slumped. He turned the corner, his gait still sure. Sighing and fighting back the ever-present tears, I turned back to the bed, grabbing the canvas bag to pack.

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><p>It had been several hours since I had left the house I had called home for the last year. I was seated in first class, headed back to my home - a place I had not seen in several years. Still, my sorrow did not leave me. If anything, the combination of my broken heart with my broken home destroyed my fragile emotional stability. I wept openly.<p>

The woman seated to my left patted my knee gently. "Nothing's that bad, poppet." I tried to respond, but the only sounds I was able to produce were hiccup-tinged wails. "I promise. Whatever it is that has you in such a state will get better." Unable to speak, I did my best to nod. I was still unable to bring my wild sobs under control, though.

"Oh, will you stop your snivelling!" The man across the aisle snarled the command. Though he startled me, his demand failed to end the flood of my tears. "Listen, chit, we've got a long flight ahead of us still, and I refuse to spend the whole route listening to you screech!" I heard a smattering of disapproval through the cabin. I was unsure of whether the issue were his comments – which did nothing to help me, or my own inability to stop sobbing until the flight attendant stepped in front of me. She handed me a kerchief, gently patting my shoulder.

"Sir, the airline apologizes that you're having to witness humanity." The comment was just brusque enough to help abate my tears. "I realize we're still several thousand miles from our destination. However, if you find the accommodations we provide as intolerable as your comments suggest, you're welcome to disembark."

I could hear him dribbling clearly, even as the other passengers giggled a bit. I turned to the attendant, touching her forearm lightly to ask for another kerchief. Seeing my hand on her arm seemed to rekindle his anger. "Madam, I will have you terminated!"

Though my vision was a bit swimmy, I narrowed my eyes at him. I could feel my anger bubbling through my veins, and I felt something within me give way. A loud crack sounded throughout the cabin. Several startled squeals erupted, and those who had been standing in the aisles ducked down quickly. The captain came over the intercom within a few moments of the noise, declaring that there was no need for alarm as the cabin pressure throughout the plane was unaffected by the disturbance.

Because my eyes had not left his face as the minutes ticked by, I saw the hand print clearly form on his cheek. No one had touched him, but he had the unmistakable imprint of a narrow hand with decidedly elongated fingers staining his face. Even as the other events registered in my peripheral vision, I watched the discoloration bloom across his skin. I had no idea how the event had happened, and the memory of other things I had once been unable to explain came to the forefront of my mind. Fresh tears bloomed even as the man took his seat, trying to hide his face from the other passengers.

The flight attendant nodded in his direction before turning to face me. The scowl she had bestowed on him vanished quickly as she took in the fresh flood of tears leaking from my eyes. "Broken heart?" I could only nod. She gave me a sad smile before turning and motioning for someone to bring the drink cart. "Here, honey, have some of this." She handed me a small tumbler full of amber liquid. I started to protest, but she held up her hand. "You'll feel better." I did not think too much about it after the kind lady next to me nodded as well. I downed the glass in two swallows and passed it back to the attendant. I leaned back in my seat, hiccuping sobs coming intermittently. I felt my body relaxing slightly, my eyelids growing heavy. The attendant repositioned my seat and covered me with a blanket. I tried to thank her for her efforts, but all that came out was a slurred sound. I heard her chuckle, then knew no more.

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><p>I woke to find the plane had landed, a gentle shaking of my shoulder alerting me that I was blocking the woman next to me from getting out. Mumbling an apology, I rose from my seat, stumbling into the aisle and stretching my cramped muscles. The flight attendant gave me a sad smile.<p>

"What did you give me?" My lips seemed to stick together as I spoke to her.

"Just a mild sedative. Works every time." Her voice was gentle as she helped pull my carry on down from the overhead compartment. She ushered me out of the plane and down the loading bridge to the airport. "Is there someone waiting on you?" I shrugged, not sure if Charlie had been able to get in touch with any of my relatives. The answer, however, came from the end of the ramp.

"I will take that, madam."

Though his words were clipped, and his demeanor would be considered cold by those who did not know him, I rushed toward the speaker, throwing my arms about his middle and hugging him tightly. "Oh, Uncle!"

"We would have come to get you, Bella." He nodded to the attendant as she handed over my bag. "There was no need to make a trans-Atlantic flight." He walked us away from the jet-bridge, stopping when his back was to a wall and letting me cling to him fiercely. After several minutes I pulled away, and he frowned as he looked down at his oxford.

"Now that I need new attire, do I dare hope this is the only luggage you brought with you?" He scowled as I shook my head and produced a baggage claim ticket. He glared at the piece of paper. Remembering the feats he was capable of, I hoped he wouldn't incinerate it. I decided to take the initiative in hopes of diverting his attention. Looking up, I saw the signs pointing to the baggage queue. I gently turned his chin so the sign was in his line of vision. Huffing, he took my hand once again, looping it into the crook of his arm before guiding us in that direction. I could not help but smile at his discomfort. "You may think this humorous now, Isabella, but I am most unamused." My smile only grew wider.

After claiming my luggage, he guided me into an alcove, and wrapped his arms tightly around me.

"Uncle!" I hissed. "What if I should need to leave this country by Muggle means? I can't very well do, if I don't have a stamp in my passport."

He smirked down at me. "You should have thought of that before amusing yourself at my expense." And with a slight turn, I felt the world shift about me.

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><p>My already pallid skin turned a ghastly shade of grey as I tried to acclimate my stomach to the jolt of apparition. It had been far too long since I had "side-alonged" and I knew my body would be rebelling against this interaction with someone else's magic.<p>

"Isabella."

Hearing my name echo in the chamber sent shivers down my spine. Despite having lived in the States for so long, an embedded memory of a childhood visit immediately sprang to mind. Ingrained reactions rose to the forefront of my mind as I raised my face to the new voice, taking in the bald head and slitted red eyes with hardly any visible reaction. His long fingers tapped against the throne upon which he was seated for a moment before stopping as he gripped the arms with sudden force.

"You were not sent away for safety's sake so that you could consort with a vampire. Or a werewolf." A growl sounded to his right, but I kept my eyes trained on the man intent on showing just how reprehensible he found my associations to be. "You were to be safe because of the prophecy."

"And one can not always fight fate, father." A rippling gasp filled the room, quickly squashed when he rose from his throne and stepped fully into the light.

"Isabella Marie Swan, you dare defy me?"

I took a deep breath, feeling my nostrils flare with the aggravation of having to defend my choices. Meeting his gaze and trying not to visibly flinch, I did my best to reroute the meeting. "Why Swan, father?"

His eyes flashed at my cheek and the dismissal of his question. I could see the frustration in every line of his body as he paced before his throne. The men around his throne shrank back from him. Even the growls which had peppered the air since his comment regarding werewolves ceased. His red eyes seemed to darken and flash as he finally chose to answer. "A surname was required."

"Why not my mother's?"

He lunged towards me, slitted nostrils flaring as he stopped short. "If you must know, it is the only amount of sentimentality I have shown in my life."

"That doesn't answer the question," I reminded him softly. His eyes narrowed and he looked as though he wanted to shake me.

"Why must you try my patience?"

I kept his gaze as long as I could. Despite knowing that most would not _dare_, I forced myself not to drop my eyes. Muggles play a game where they see who will blink first when staring at each other. I had, in my youth, played the game. It could not even compare to holding my father's gaze. It was only when he stepped forward that I finally looked down, letting myself blink rapidly to bring moisture back to my eyes. Glancing up, I could see his gaze turn to the stern man with whom I had arrived. The silence was palpable, an almost electric undercurrent tinging the air as my father tested his servant's will.

Finally turning away from my uncle, he spun on his heel, effectively dismissing us both. "This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion. Escort her to her quarters, then return here." My uncle grasped my hand, placing it into the crook of his elbow once more as he escorted me from the chamber.

Uncle's head was raised high as we walked along, my fingers squeezing his arm tightly with the tension coursing through me. The hallways were not as dark as I had expected them to be, the ornate decorations helping me to relax slightly as I took in their grandeur. After several moments, our pace slowed, stopping only once we stepped into a large red circle opposite what I assumed to be the front doors.

"You would do well not to test him, Isabella. Though you are of his flesh, he is not one to trifle with." Uncle's voice startled me. I jumped slightly, losing my hold on his arm. He turned to face me, crossing his arms over his chest. "I appreciate that you want to establish your position among the household. Angering the lord of the manor is not the best method."

I couldn't help but grin. "Uncle..."

He raised his hand. "Isabella, this is not some permanently pubescent vampire. Or a socially awkward werewolf." My eyes narrowed and I felt lightning racing across my skin. He raised one eyebrow at my petulance. "While you hold a higher place than any other in this household, it will benefit you to remember that you have a place to uphold. I can assure you that the antics you were accustomed to in the States will not be accepted in our society." Despite my irritation at his assessment of my behavior, I nodded, deferring to his judgment.

Taking my arm once again, he waved his other hand. Where I had seen nothing a moment before, two grand staircases appeared. I could not help but be awed by the majesty of this home. Though his face showed no sign of it, I could hear the amusement in Uncle's voice as he spoke. "You will find there are many hidden secrets in this place, Isabella."

He opened the door to the right of the first floor hall with a slight flick of his fingers. Disentangling my hand from his arm, he did not release my hand until I had stepped over the threshold. "I am certain you flight tired you. Do take some time to refresh yourself. An elf will be up shortly to attend to any needs you may have." He had blushed slightly at the last, bowing to cover it. He stepped out of the doorway, the door closing behind him.

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><p>I had forgotten, because Uncle's visits were so infrequent, how wonderful the magical oils could be. Stepping from the bath, I felt rejuvenated. I entered my bedroom dripping wet. Though the winter weather had certainly done no favors for father's manor house, I paid it no mind as I toweled off. A throat clearing behind me had me squeaking as I pivoted. I scowled at my mother, whose high-pitched laughter echoed through the cavernous room.<p>

"Your father is having words with your uncle." My mother's voice floated to me as I stepped over to the bed. "So I've come to see how you are." No sooner had the words left her lips than I burst into tears, collapsing onto the large bed in the center of the room. Though my mother's voice surrounded me, I was once more inconsolable. She crooned to me, but it took quite some time before my sobs abated.

I could not determine whether it was the emotional upheaval before the flight, or whether it was the exhaustion of the trip itself that continued to cause my moods to be so mercurial. Though it spanned several more bouts of desperate grief, I was finally able to tell her enough.

Not once during the ordeal did she touch me. The fingers gently combing my tresses belonged to the house-elf that had been sent to attend me. When my tears soaked the pillow underneath me, a light snap of her fingers would have the linen dry and clean once more. The overwhelming onslaught drained me, and I felt fatigue overcoming me despite my efforts to fight it.

When Mother eventually shushed me, I was too tired to protest, and drifted to sleep.

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><p>I awoke to hushed voices.<p>

"What were we to do?" Uncle's deep timber was barely audible, My ears strained to make out the words.

"You were supposed to protect her!" I opened one eye, taking in my mother's flashing eyes and angry countenance. Her hissing made her meaning far more difficult to discern.

Uncle managed to keep his frustration in check, though it showed in the bearing of his shoulders. It could also clearly be heard in his voice. "When? Precisely when was I supposed to be able to carry out that task? How you managed to keep her alive while we were in __that place __I'll never know. Nor do I want to." Uncle was holding his hand up to forestall mother's explanation, and her jaw snapped shut. Her eyes darted to me, causing Uncle to turn slightly. I tried to keep my breathing even, so they would continue their discussion. Sadly, it seemed Uncle had noticed. "Such a trouble maker. Just like your mother." Mother's screech caused me to cringe, and I knew my ruse was ended.

"Yes, well." I sat up, keeping the blanket that had been placed over me firmly tucked around my body. Though the elf had put me in bedclothes, ladies did not display their assets to 'all and sundry.'

Uncle turned to face me fully. He pinched the bridge of his nose briefly before lowering his hand to address the issue at hand. "I understand why you didn't want to mention this in front of your father earlier. But he will want to hear all of the details, Isabella."

"Bella." His continual use of my full name had been irritating me, and I refused to not correct it anymore.

Watching his eyebrow rise slowly, I stifled a giggle. I had not known he had that great of a mastery over his facial muscles. I would need to ask him to teach me. "Excuse me?"

"Bella. The Muggles you left me with –"

"Squibs," Mother corrected. "I would never leave you with _M___uggles__."

Uncle sniffed, managing to restrain himself from curling his lip in disgust. "Quite right."

"Fine." I crossed my arms over my chest as I huffed in irritation. "__Squibs__. Still, not able to do magic, so I couldn't either. I simply wish to be called Bella, rather than by my full name."

Mother tilted her head to the side, looking at me askance. "This is a Muggle affectation."

"That may be, but who left me there for seventeen years?"

Uncle's nostrils flared as he crossed to the bed, staring down at me. With his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes darkening, I realized why he was considered a highly dangerous man. "We could not risk your death, __Bella__. We needed you to survive. Though, I admit, your involvement with the vampires and werewolves was not a foreseen event."

Had he not been so intimidating, I might have given him some cheek. Still, I knew my limits, and where Uncle was concerned I had reached them. "It wasn't all bad. It did let me hold on to a small piece of this world."

"Oh, never mind all that." Mother's intervention hindered Uncle's response. I realized that I had missed bantering with him. It was one aspect of his intermittent visits that always amused me. His proper ways were not something to which life as the sheriff's daughter had accustomed me, but his rapier wit certainly kept my mind – and my tongue – sharp. "Rodolphus, we need to consider her education. She'll need certifications if she's to enter into society, and she'll certainly have to be able to defend herself."

Stepping away from my bedside, he turned to face mother fully. "I could take over her training in several areas, Bellatrix. Though I'm not enamored of him, Malfoy would be a good choice to aid in that endeavor as well. Many of our contacts are diminished."

Mother scowled. "I'm aware –" A loud crack covered her voice briefly. Whatever Mother had been about to state was halted immediately by the presence of the house-elf.

"Dubh is begging your pardons." Her voice was soft. Though it was clear she was a servant, she carried herself better than many of the elves I had seen during the few brief visits of my childhood. Her large eyes widened as Mother yelled at her to hurry about with her message. "The Master is wishing to see the young miss."

Uncle bowed to me before leaving the room. I rose once the door was locked, allowing the elf to help dress me. Though I had become comfortable in the modern Muggle dress and I would sorely miss my denims, I could not deny that the satin material sliding sensuously against my skin went a long way towards making me become enamored of the stricter dress code of Mother's society. Once I was appropriately dressed and sitting in front of the vanity, Mother instructed the elf as to hair and makeup, then glared at me, her eyes catching mine in the mirror.

"You will have to tell him."

My voice was barely audible as I answered her. "I know."

"The sooner, the better. He does not like secrets, and sees them as a betrayal." I nodded. "Do leave out the bit about begging for your death as long as possible, though. I highly doubt you'll appreciate his reaction." My smile was grim as I turned to face her, Dubh having finished her work. I started to reach a hand up to my hair, halting at the venomous stare Mother bestowed on me. "You will become acclimated to this very quickly. You were always quick to learn, Isabella, and I have no doubt of your ability to make up lost time, as it were, in learning the intricacies of wielding magic. You will certainly bring us great pride."

Happy as I was to be away from Forks and all of my memories there, with each word she spoke, Mother caused another knell of impending doom to sound. I had been scared of what Edward would have given me, but I would have achieved immortality. Father had always sought that, but had been unwilling to be beholden to achieve it. Yet as Mother continued, I felt a different weight settle on my shoulders. I realized my concerns before were trivial comparatively. I would be required to fit into the society Uncle had always spoken of on his visits. I would now be expected to surmount seventeen years of the absence of training in magic. And, as Uncle had always told me on his infrequent trips stateside, I would be expected to ensnare the affections of Father's enemy, to lure him to his doom.

One thing was certain. I was no longer concerned about Edward Cullen.


	2. II: Rodolphus

__Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Twilight. I make no profit from this work of fiction.__

Author's note: __As with all authors, I appreciate feedback. Please tell me what you did or did not like so that I can improve. ___Review responses – and any announcements – will be posted here: (FB URL) /pages/RogueMudblood/684906514892205_

_**Because this affects previous notes of this chapter, I am posting this with the revision**__:_

_I'm no longer going to be listing those who favorite/follow the story at the top of each chapter. This is being done for only one reason: some people don't want anyone knowing they're reading my work. So they alert instead of favorite it._

_I want to be sure this is clear - __**I still appreciate every single review, favorite and alert**__ that I receive, on this story or any other._

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><p>Though I had made mention of the possibility of seeking the aid of the Malfoys in Isabella's education, I ultimately decided on another individual. It would, after all, be imperative that she not only learn her place within society, but that she also have a proper understanding of certain social mores. Lucius had always placed his loyalty to his family above all else. Commendable in some situations, though when it came to the living heir of the Dark Lord such a division of attention would be detrimental.<p>

With this in mind, I dispatched the owl to another of my comrades. While he lacked a wife, he would be more than capable of educating Isabella on the finer points of the world in which she would be assuming a place of high honor.

Another matter drew my thoughts once the owl had flown from my line of sight. The task of procuring for her a wand in order to train her lay before me. As she had pointed out, Isabella had been left without magical training. Though the couple she was left with were squibs, they had little knowledge of the wizarding world. Pure-bloods both, they were still outcast. They would have known how to explain her small bursts of accidental magic to neighbors for a time, but not how to harness that ability. Pitiable though it was, I only had a limited time in which to hone her skills.

Resting my elbows on the ornate desk allotted to me in this domicile, I steepled my fingers, resting the tips of my forefingers against my lips as I weighed my options. Ollivander was right out. Nor did I trust any German wandmakers, and I did not know that I should trust any French ones. While that left me options in Spain, I did not wish to explore those any more than I should choose to return to the Americas to obtain a wand for her.

Still pondering the possibilities, I allowed my eyes to slowly fall closed, lulled by the sound of the crackling logs in the fireplace. My attention was so intently focused on the sounds the embers made as they popped that I did not realize I was no longer alone until I felt a hand on my shoulder.

Years of battle-honed instinct were impossible to suppress. Thought did not enter into my actions as I rose from the desk, toppling the chair in my haste. I slipped my wand from its sheath and twisted the hand that touched me in an unnatural direction with my unoccupied hand. I had never been one to rely solely on my magic when faced with a physically inferior opponent. Despite my innate knowledge that she and I were alone in the manor other than the elves, my wand was at Isabella's throat as my body pressed her into the wall. Even as my mind began to clear from the natural instincts which had overpowered it, taking in the terror in her eyes, I recognized that she was not choosing "flight" in her response to the situation.

I had barely begun to step away and lower my wand before I regretted the decision. Her eyes changed from frightened doe to angered cobra. The minute change in my position was enough to provide her an advantage, one which she quickly pressed. The left hand she had raised in a signal of surrender as my wand had gouged her neck lowered to grasp my right wrist. With my attention focusing on my wand arm, I did not note the shift in her hips that would have alerted me to her moving one of her feet behind mine. She pushed just hard enough to cause me to lose my balance, my left hand reaching back to steady me against the desk. Deft fingers swiped along my wand hand, taking advantage of my unusually unsteady position to relieve me of it. I blinked, and opened my eyes to see my own wand pointed at me.

"I might not know the right words to say to make this thing work magic, but I do know how to use a pointy stick to poke someone's eye out, Uncle."

I was taken aback for a moment. She would do well in hand-to-hand combat, certainly. An image of her breaking young Malfoy's nose as that upstart Mudblood had once done took root in my mind. I could picture the complete shock on the inept wizard's face as the heir of the Dark Lord broke his snout and caused blood to pour down his usually pristine face. I nearly giggled at the thought of it. He would, of course, stumble backwards and land on his arse unceremoniously. My mirth at the image was great enough to prevent the scowl that usually came when I recalled the utter disdain with which he had viewed the Dark Lord in later years. Still, I could not help but chuckle at the thought of her presiding over a meeting of the Death Eaters, using her fists as means of reflecting her mercurial moods rather than the magic her father had employed. Such openness from me shocked her, and her hold on my wand loosened. I snatched it from her hand as her grip slackened, sheathing it quickly. Still chuckling, I held up my hand as she took a deep breath presumably to berate me.

"Forgive me, Isabella. I simply find great amusement in your... resourcefulness. However, as a primer to your education..." Her eyes were narrowed as she watched me carefully. She stepped back from me, allowing me to stand straight. I could not help the smirk spreading on my face as I turned my hand about in the air, producing a bluebell flame. Though she had seen me open doors, she may have assumed there was some type of Muggle sensor involved. She had been too long among them. Her thoughts were bound to be limited by their own sense of reality.

I did not attempt to fight the smug grin that graced my features as her jaw dropped slightly. My other hand reached up to her chin, pushing her mouth closed once more. "Magic requires neither wand nor speech." Her raised eyebrow let me know she did not fully believe me. She would learn with time. "Also, ladies do not let their mouths fall open, no matter the amount of surprise." Her hands move to rest on her hips, her shoulders thrust backward in defiance. Taking in her stance, I raised an eyebrow as I also noted the clothing she had chosen to wear.

I simply shook my head as I turned from her, snapping my fingers softly to call an elf to the room. Decisions about a wand might be able to wait a short time, but a proper wardrobe required immediate attention. Dubh may have been one of the most accomplished elves in seamstress magic that I had ever had the fortune to know – she had saved me enough trouble of buying Bellatrix new clothes by altering them well enough – but Isabella would need more than her mother's cast off clothing.

"Master calls Eitri?"

"Yes. Have Dubh prepare Miss Swan for departure." As expected the order was met with a slight displacement of air as the elf departed.

"You don't have to talk to them like that." Her voice relayed her ire clearly.

I turned back to her slowly. Surely she was not daring to correct me on proper haviour. Her arms were crossed over her chest, a scowl firmly in place. In that moment, were it possible, I could have sincerely killed my wife for sending her daughter to live with squibs. She appeared every inch to be a sanctimonious outsider. It might take a great deal more time than I had anticipated to prepare her for the role she was expected to fill. She could certainly not step up to her place among the wizarding elite while holding to the ideas of Muggles.

"You are not yet educated in the ways of this world in which you now find yourself." Her raised eyebrow caused me to chuckle gently as I took her hand and placed it in the crook of my elbow. "Oh, I've told you tales, yes." I guided her to the door. "But none of those tales have prepared you fully for life among the elite – which is where you now find yourself. __They are servants.__" My voice was no more than a hiss as I reprimanded her. I waved my hand to open the door, escorting her into the hallway. "They expect to receive __orders__, not __requests__."

Her silence afterward was not that of a person insistent on the veracity of their own position. Her scowl was not that of a child petulantly believing they had been wrongfully chastised. Instead she appeared to be contemplating the reality of the situation. Upon arriving at the stairs, she turned to face me as Dubh took her hand to lead her up to her chambers to prepare.

"I suppose you're right." Not yet familiar with her daily mannerisms, I could not determine whether she was wholly sincere. "That might have been what Renée's mother was trying to teach me by taking me to those high-scale restaurants. The waiters always looked at me with disdain when I requested something, whenever I said 'please' and 'thank you'. I always just thought they were being snooty."

Gracing her with a gentile smile, I motioned for her to allow Dubh to lead her away, releasing her hand. "You have much to learn yet, Isabella, for magic is not the only area in which your education is lacking." The twitch in her facial muscles revealed a good deal more than she would have liked. It did, however, let me know that she at least held her own insights in high regard. That would serve her well. "I will teach you, and will have others to educate you as well. In less than a year, we will have you prepared for your proper place." She smiled radiantly at me then, and I took in her features as any unmarried socialite would have. Her beauty would need guarding from an outside source until she had learned enough to protect herself. Even then, it would be prudent to have a bodyguard around her at all times. Watching her ascend the stairs, I began considering carefully which individual could be trusted with such a task.

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><p>The chime sounding at our entry had an olive-skinned woman stepping from behind a curtain. She bustled quickly towards the front of the store, her eyes immediately taking in Isabella's dress. Her disapproval of such old-fashioned attire was clear.<p>

"If you're quite finished, madam." The disdain in my voice was equally transparent. Her eyes snapped to my face, widening as she recognized me. Her demeanor immediately changed as she dipped into a full curtsy.

"My apologies, sir." As she straightened, she kept her eyes downcast. She was careful to keep her features neutral as she took in Isabella's attire. She realized that we represented "old money" – older fashion was an affectation among our social circle. It was not, however, one that Isabella could afford coming into the social circles she would be entering within the next few months. "What would madam be needing today?"

"_Mademoiselle_." She nodded, bobbing a brief curtsy to acknowledge the correction. Assumptions were not a problem when Mudbloods did not run rampant through the magical world. Aristocracy was recognized and the hierarchy was unquestioned. Muggle lovers brought with them their ideas that wizards were 'backward' in their ways, and the thought of it overrunning our world sickened me. "My niece requires modern garments fitting a woman of her station."

The clerk nodded, turning fully to Isabella. Walking in a circle as she assessed what she needed, the clerk turned from us after several moments of silence. Clapping her hands once, she seemed to summon a veritable army of assistants. Elves appeared quickly, each having a separate assigned task. One carefully took Isabella by the hand, leading her to a tailor's stand. Tape measures magically assessed her form as the seamstress prepared the tools of her trade.

"Is she needing something for a particular occasion, my Lord?"

Isabella turned sharply, a pin sticking her. As her squeal shocked the elf recording her measurements, I managed to hide my smirk from the elf escorting me to a chaise. "Isabella, you must stand still." Once I was comfortably seated, I pulled off my gloves slowly, finally addressing the seamstress. "She needs a full wardrobe. She has never been fitted before..." I allowed my voice to trail, permitting Isabella to contradict me. She did not, and I graced her with a genuine smile. It was a test I had not been certain she would pass. "So she is unfamiliar with the process. Your elves may need to coach her a bit." Looking down, I crossed my legs, laying my gloves over my knee. My movements were very precise, and it did not escape me that the seamstress seemed to be fixated on each one.

When I finally looked back to her, she curtsied once more. She kept her eyes downcast as she asked her next question. "Will milady be needing feminine garments as well?" Isabella's shocked gasp and reddening skin caused me to stifle a sigh. I would need to explain to her when it was considered appropriate for such things to be discussed in front of a man, apparently. I hoped I would not need to go into detail as to _which_ men before whom it was only to be discussed. I simply nodded in answer to the question. "Very good, my Lord."

The next several hours passed in a flurry of fabrics and designs. I only looked in Isabella's direction when directed to do so by the seamstress. Swatches of material were laid before me repeatedly. Changing colors liberally, I marked the ones of which I approved. Isabella fidgeted continuously, eliciting small huffs of aggravation from the seamstress and her elves. I cleared my throat in an effort to stifle her movement. The subtle chastisement worked briefly, but as she began her restless movements once more, I called one of the elves over to me.

"If she moves again..." I looked up to see Isabella leaning in my direction as I spoke softly to the elf. Allowing the smirk to form on my face, I handed a long hatpin to the diminutive creature. "Feel free to stick her to keep her in place." The elf's ears drooped as she considered the punishment she would likely receive, but she took the pin, grasping it firmly and approaching the tailor's dais with resolve. For the remainder of the fitting, Isabella managed to refrain from her nervous shifting about.

Finally pleased with the numerous measurements she had taken, the seamstress quickly fashioned a floor-length slip. A quick flick and swish of her wand had the garment resting on Isabella's form, the dress she had worn laid gingerly across the arms of one of the servants. I allowed myself a small grin when Isabella did not react audibly to the spell. Various shoes were brought out and placed at the base of the tailor's dais. All were a basic tan, causing Isabella to frown.

"Never you mind about the color." The seamstress swept her wand through the air once more causing the shoes to fit themselves around Isabella's feet. "They will match whichever garment they are chosen to accompany. That's the magic that's woven into them when they're crafted." Seeing my niece's head shoot up, I shuddered inwardly. I finally understood why father had so dreaded shopping with mother when new fashions were crafted. "Simply choose styles with which you will be comfortable."

She nodded, returning her full attention to the footwear before her. She quickly discarded several styles which caused her some discomfort. Once she had settled on several choices, she insisted on wearing them and walking around the store. Though the behavior confused me – and by the quizzical tilt of her eyebrow, the seamstress also – I made no move to stop her. I shook my head gently at her antics as she sashayed through the establishment.

The elves had brought me various materials to consider for cloaks. One bore the weight of outer linings, the incredibly thick material threatening to topple the small elf. Another held bolts of material intended for the inner linings while a third carried a box filled with various clasps, both jeweled and plain. I leisurely selected several, waiting for Isabella to make her decisions on the footwear.

After several hours going through the process of choosing the proper garments for her, we left the establishment. I had been careful to conceal the price of the venture from Isabella. Such details were not necessary for someone of her status. After all, she did have me to handle such matters for her.

The sun was beginning to fall in the sky, bringing with it late afternoon heat. Without much thought, I cast a cooling charm on myself. When I tried to do the same for Isabella, it became clear my effort was unnecessary. Without magical training she had still been able to hone her skills adequately enough that she was able to cast such a charm. Placing her hand on my forearm as I looped her arm through mine, we walked sedately down the boulevard.

"Tell me, have you ever been hot in summer?"

"Hm? Oh, not since I was very young. Grandmother Higginbotham – Renée's mother – taught me how to keep cool in warmer weather when I was able to walk on my own." I nodded, hoping she would continue without prodding. "She kept saying these words and making a movement with her hand whenever I began to sweat, and suddenly I wouldn't be warm anymore, just comfortable. When she was out one day, and I started to get warm, I just concentrated on the way I had felt after she had said the words, and I was comfortable again." She shrugged a bit. My curiosity was piqued. _Drosisteíte_ was not a charm I would expect a young child to possess the magic to cast accurately, much less without any training or a wand to focus their ability. "After that, Arizona summers were never a problem for me."

We passed the next several moments in silence, her fascination with the magical shops written plainly on her face. I chose not to chastise her for being so open with her emotions. There would be plenty of time to explain why she needed to guard her enthusiasm carefully.

When we arrived at our next destination, she seemed reluctant to enter. Though the cause of her apprehension escaped me, I opened the door, escorting her inside. A short, somewhat pale man descended a ladder. He approached slowly, sensing quite rightly the strength of magic in us both. His hand trembled slightly as he reached out to disentangle her hand from my arm and lead her to the counter.

"Are you certain she needs a wand, sir?" His voice shook as he looked up at me. Though I could not be entirely certain whether that was due to awe or age, I preferred to attribute it to the former.

I gave him a brief nod. "She will need one to finish her schooling. They require one."

"Very good, sir." Turning from us slightly, the merchant reached for various boxes. He mumbled to himself as he discarded several of the wands I recognized as appropriate for a novice witch. After several minutes he lined up seven boxes along the counter. "Each is unique, and while one may work, please try each to find the best match."

Whatever the cause of her trepidation as we had entered the shop, all trace of fear had left Isabella. She stared at the line of boxes in fascination. I stood behind her as her fingers tripped lightly over the clear cases. I was a bit surprised at her immediately discarding both yew and walnut wood wands. I merely raised an eyebrow, knowing better than to interfere with this process. Still, that decision left her with only four boxes, two of which were hawthorn. The implications of that choice were quite clear.

"One of these." Her voice was clear and decisive as she pushed the other two boxes back a bit, opening the hawthorn boxes. She held one hand over each. The wandmaker jumped back a bit as one of the wands flew into her palm much more quickly than the other. He was clearly astonished by the choice.

"Rarely do I see that wand choose someone of your age." Though his voice was firmer than when we first entered, it still quivered a bit. I felt a hysterical giddiness trying to overcome me. I wondered if this sentiment was the same that had seemingly overtaken Bellatrix on numerous occasions.

"Oh?" Isabella was genuinely curious. I had never discussed with her how wands were made, that the components of the wand could affect the use and character of the magic flowing through it. The elements from which the wand was crafted indicated quite clearly traits about the wand's user. Isabella was sure to learn this over the course of the next year – people would make quite a few assumptions about her based on her wand alone.

"The core is a unicorn hair on the one, a thestral hair on the other." He frowned a bit, turning from her to look at his shelves. "I wonder, if you would indulge me..." His voice trailed off as he placed another case on the counter. Returning the wand that responded more slowly to its box and setting it to the side, she opened the new case. She closed her eyes as she took the new wand in hand.

"Something isn't quite right." Her voice was barely a whisper yet it sounded quite clearly in the charged atmosphere of the shop.

His eyes were wide as he took in the implications. "The core and the wood do not both match what you need."

I raised one eyebrow before taking the alder wood wand from her hand, replacing it in its case. "Construct her one with the elements that are best suited to her." The wandmaker bowed his head in acceptance of the commission. "For the time being, she will train with this wand."

"It will certainly suit her for now. Will she be needing a sheath?" I nodded, and he escorted us over to a case with various ladies' wand sheaths. "Plain, or adorned?"

I considered briefly for a moment providing her with a showy sheath for special occasions in addition to the unadorned one she would require for daily use. I decided the decorated sheath would be unnecessary until she had the finished wand in hand. "I should think plain just now. Should she wish something more cultured later, we can certainly discuss that once the other wand has been prepared."

He gave one brief nod, waving his hand over the cases with the plain choices. "As you wish." Several sheaths were placed on the counter, with straps of varying lengths and thicknesses. "Right or left?"

Isabella looked to me when I did not answer immediately, only to find my gaze resting on her. "Which is your writing hand, Isabella?"

"Oh!" Her pink-tinged cheeks would be endearing to potential suitors, something else I would need to mention to her bodyguard. "Right."

The wandmaker pulled two sheaths from the stack, each a standard black leather. I blanched slightly as I realized Dubh would not be aware of how to fasten a lady's dress over the sheath and still allow access so that she could draw her wand from her thigh if she were wearing a sleeveless gown. A concern for a later time, I concluded as I handed over the payment for our purchases and a generous amount towards the commissioned wand.

He bowed his thanks. "Whom should I owl at its completion?"

"Rodolphus Lestrange." The heady rush of power filled me once more as I watched his skin pale. "I can trust your discretion in this matter?" He was quick to provide his assent. It was gratifying to know that my name alone could still terrorize. I suppressed the urge to cackle madly as we exited the shop, Isabella's hand once more in the crook of my elbow as I guided her through the streets.


	3. III: Thorfinn

__Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Twilight. I make no profit from this work of fiction.__

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_**_**Because this affects previous notes of this chapter, I am posting this with the revision**_**___:__

__I'm no longer going to be listing those who favorite/follow the story at the top of each chapter. This is being done for only one reason: some people don't want anyone knowing they're reading my work. So they alert instead of favorite it.__

__I want to be sure this is clear - ___**_**I still appreciate every single review, favorite and alert **_**___that I receive, on this story or any other.__

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><p>Generally, when someone sends me an owl stating that a matter is urgent, they are prepared for my arrival. Occasionally, they even appear to be anxiously awaiting it. Rodolphus Lestrange, on the other hand, seemed to derive some sick amount of satisfaction from insisting I drop everything in order to attend to whatever matter he had deemed important and leaving me to sit in his parlor.<p>

The little elf trembled slightly as he led me to the drawing room. "Eitri is telling you as soon as Master Lestrange and Miss Swan is back." He looked down, wringing his hands as I took a look about the room. It had been quite some time since I had been in this particular manse. I had not planned on returning. "Is Sir be needing things?" Shaking my head, I tried to cover my startlement at the sharp _crack_ which immediately followed, alerting me that the elf had finally left.

I still could not quite grasp the conception of such a child. I had, in fact, thought she was merely a myth – something that was told to the younger of our number in order to determine gullibility, or loyalty. When they had asked me if I would defend an heir of our Lord, of course I had answered I would. Why a man who would live forever would need – or desire – offspring was not for me to question. So I simply said I would, even laying down my own life as I would for my Lord. And they had nodded and moved to the next of the circle.

Thinking back on it, it was possible that Severus and Lucius knew something that the rest of us had not known. It would be something that Severus had managed to keep secret from that bumbling Dumbledore, may he burn in Tartarus. Of course, it was equally likely that they had merely been carrying out His orders and asking the question based on an eventuality. Though the timing had been odd.

My musings were interrupted, however, as the elf reappeared to escort me to a different chamber. The elf held out his hand to me, his abnormally large eyes somehow appearing to widen when I did not immediately grasp it. "Eitri is taking you to Master."

Glaring down my nose at the little creature, I sneered. "I am capable of following direction, elf." I refused to be transported by elf magic. Such humiliations were for errant children. As we passed by the main stairwell, I was glad of my stubborn insistence on walking. Looking up, I caught a glimpse of her, focusing on breathing deeply to keep my surprise from showing.

Her dark raven tresses were reminiscent of both her parents, though her straight hair appeared to be a genetic trait from my Lord. Her back was turned to me, giving me a moment to wonder about the color of her eyes. My musings on that matter were brief as my eyes roved over her form. She had certainly inherited her mother's figure. As I observed her ascending the stairs, she stumbled a bit. I winced at the realization that I would likely need to teach her poise as well. Sadly, though looks were often passed on to the next generation, grace was not.

Shaking my head, I turned my attention back to the elf. He had stopped when he noticed my observation, but to his credit, his eyes were downcast. I tapped the toe of my boot twice within the line of his eyesight. He merely turned from me to resume the trek to Rodolphus' study. Once there, the elf merely popped out of the room, the doors behind me seeming to close of their own accord.

Rodolphus had not looked up from the letter he was writing as I entered. Despite feeling snubbed by the act, I recognized the reality of the situation. He did hold a higher position than I, and he was intentionally reminding me of it. I took a seat in one of the chairs opposite the ornate desk, crossing my legs and leisurely removing my gloves. Restlessly swinging my foot back and forth allowed the toe of my boot to gently connect with the outer edge of his desk. I smirked at him when he finally looked up at me. Taking a moment to bask in the irritated scowl I had managed to get him to show, I cleared my throat before voicing my first concern. "She'll need a bodyguard."

Pursing his lips, Rodolphus returned his attention to the parchment before him, his quill scratching away more noisily than before. Looking up again as he returned the pen to the inkwell, his face once more reflected its usual passivity. "That's such a lovely greeting, Thorfinn."

"I mean it." I had barely restrained myself from rolling my eyes. The affectations of the younger generation had certainly made their mark upon me – even their mannerisms had become somewhat contagious.

He put the quill down, rolled the parchment and sealed it, calling an owl to him. Whispering to the owl, he opened the window and let it fly before closing the portal once more. "I am acutely aware of her appearance." He stood and walked to his sideboard, slowly pouring out a brandy for us both. He carefully placed my glass on the desktop before resuming his seat. After he had taken several sips, I stifled an aggravated sigh at his seeming reticence. Reaching forward for the glass, I had just raised it to my lips when he spoke again. "She has been practicing magic."

I quickly swallowed the small amount of liquor that had passed my lips before setting the glass back down. "All children act out magic, Rodolphus. That's hardly –"

"A cooling charm." I relaxed into the chair, waiting for him to continue. He took several more sips, seemingly fortifying his resolve, before speaking further on the matter. "Since before she was six years of age." Not attempting to hide my surprise, I allowed my right eyebrow to rise.

"How did she learn? Accidental magic is not usually manifested in such complexity. Did she repeat the behavior or was it a singular event?" Even our Lord had not manifested such complex magic so early.

"From what she has said, it was a regular occurrence. One she performed, once she was six years of age, without either wand or speaking the spell aloud." He looked down at the desk, shaking his head before looking into my eyes once more. "And I thought I was demonstrating something when I showed her the bluebell flame."

I leaned forward, relaxing my posture slightly. "Who taught her? I know you visited her, but…."

He shook his head, rising to retrieve the decanter from the sideboard. Once he had it in hand, he returned to the desk, filing his glass with deliberate slowness before seating himself once more. "No. I told her stories, gave her indications as to what would be expected of her should the need arise."

"Well, it has certainly arisen." I had spoken softly, but not so quietly that the elder Lestrange had not heard me. Rodolphus stood, his disdain for my cheek obvious in his stance.

"Your levity is inappropriate, Thorfinn." His eyes were narrowed as he stared down at me. "I should think you would have learned, when it comes to our Lord, that some things are discouraged."

Feeling the fire rushing through my veins at the chastisement, I rose, allowing my left pointer to idly trace the scar the Potter brat had inflicted on me himself. I frowned at him, irritated that he felt the need to revisit old failures. "Some things, comrade, I shall not forget."

I followed Rodolphus as he moved to exit the study, snapping his fingers lightly once he reached the door. An impossibly loud crack announced the elf's return. "Eitri, where is Mistress Isabella?"

Bowing low, the elf pointed a finger towards the doors, forcing them open for his master. "Eitri will bring her presently." He stood straight once more, fingers poised to whisk himself away in another thunderous clap.

"To the drawing room." The elf nodded and vanished. I followed Rodolphus down the dreary hallway.

Wanting to fill the silence so that the next bout of elf magic would not seem so dreadfully loud to my ears, I decided to comment on it. I would never have dared to anyone other than Rodolphus, but I had no fear of being overheard by any others as we made our way back to the more hospitable part of the manor. "We really ought to have someone come in and redecorate."

He stopped directly in front of me, nearly causing me to collide with him. Looking at him instead of the décor, I noted that we had arrived at the secondary entrance to the drawing room, one rarely used if the creakiness of the doors as Rodolphus opened them with his magic was any indication. He turned to me, disapproval written into the deep lines of his face. "And how precisely should we explain that one?" I allowed myself an audible and exasperated sigh. Shaking my head, I entered the room before him. "I did not bring you here, Thorfinn, for your wit or your cheek." I turned to face him. "I asked you here to help her with her social education. She is a quick learner."

"Let us hope so." My voice was soft, but it carried in the quiet chamber. Rodolphus' eyebrow lifted slightly. "I have no desire to stay in this manse any longer than needed."

A smirk crossed his face. "Of course not. I don't suppose you are particularly fond of this room."

Suppressing the shudder that worked its way up my spine, I met his eyes as I answered his challenge. "No." He nodded, and appeared to be ready to say more. The doors opening again, however, halted him – to my relief.

The elf did not precede her, likely having only to tell her where Rodolphus expected her to be. She did not notice me at first, her eyes only seeking him out. I took advantage of the momentary lapse in her judgment, adding that to the list of things with which I would need to familiarize her. No self-respecting Pure-blood would enter a room and not immediately be aware of the people in it. "Uncle, when will the delivery…" Her voice trailed as she finally registered my presence. She turned to me, clearly lost as to how she should greet me. "Oh, hello." I converted the snort the salutation elicited into a cough, providing Rodolphus the opportunity to present me properly.

I noted the way he rolled his eyes before he gestured to me lazily. "Isabella, this is Thorfinn Rowle. He will help you learn what you will need to know in order to ingratiate yourself with the society in which you now find yourself." To her credit, she acknowledged his order with a slight nod before dipping into a curtsy to me. As she did, an elf appeared bearing a letter for Rodolphus.

"Mr. Rowle." Her whispering of my name distracted me momentarily. I gave her a half bow, offering my hand to escort her to an open chaise. Bowing again as I left her, I walked back over to Rodolphus, noting the smug satisfaction evidenced on his face.

Eyeing the letter with some suspicion, I leaned toward him, keeping my voice low."She's endearing."

Rodolphus hummed briefly. "The missive that just arrived assures me that her physical guard will be with us before the day's end." We walked back toward where she was seated. An impish smile played on her lips, making me aware that we were not being nearly as careful as I had hoped without the aid of _Muffliato_.

I decided to end the farce of attempted discretion. "Oh?"

As expected, Rodolphus took the opportunity to present her with a social challenge. "Surely you did not think I would trust one such as you with that task."

"Now, Isabella, that barb would engender a response from those of lower class. For example, the general populace would be quite tempted to grace your uncle with the Muggle two-fingered salute." Rodolphus moved to the sideboard and prepared himself another glass of brandy, saluting me with the decanter before he began to pour. "As a member of elite society, nothing so crass would ever be acceptable." She nodded, gracing me with a tight-lipped smile. "His comment, of course, indicates that I'm of ill repute and a womanizer. So, I can either justify his remark with levity by flirting with you, or I can return a barb of my own, impugning his integrity."

Rodolphus returned from the sideboard with his brandy in hand. He handed me a short tumbler of firewhiskey. I took a sip, letting it sit on my tongue before feeling the burning liquid trickle down my throat as I swallowed. From the corner of my eye I watched her fidget impatiently. Deciding to test her a bit, I repeated the process a further three times.

"Well?" Her voice was tinged with irritation.

I set down the glass, repressing a smug grin. "You can never push someone to continue the conversation, Isabella."

Rodolphus hummed lightly. "I will, however, also say that if you take _this_ long to formulate a rejoinder, there is certainly nothing that can be done to salvage the reputation." She snickered. I added the behavior to my growing mental list of issues on which we would need to work.

Turning to him, I frowned a bit as I responded. "I appreciate your input, Rodolphus, but did you not wish for me to educate her on these points?"

He had apparently decided to adopt my own method of forced irritation as he took several slow sips of his brandy, swirling the liquid in the glass before each draw. When I failed to rise to his baiting, he deigned to respond. "Certainly you did not think I would sit idly by while you did so."

"Touché." My lips were drawn in a tight line as I answered.

Isabella chuckled. "All right, I get the idea." I turned to her, my right eyebrow raised. "Swift, cutting, intelligent response. Not a crass hand gesture. Next lesson?" The false smile on my face quickly grew genuine. She honestly believed we were staging – perhaps exaggerating – our discord for the benefit of her education. Though I had no intentions of shattering this illusion, I did make a note to educate her on how to see through a polite façade.

Rodolphus smiled at her as well, raising his glass in salute before taking another sip of his brandy. He turned to me, the jovial demeanor vanishing instantly. "I think she's been far more lenient in her indulgence of your antics than her father would have been, wouldn't you agree?" I paled. He turned to her fully, demonstrating his utter disdain for me by turning his back on me completely. "And that, Isabella, is how you remind someone of their place in a hierarchy." I narrowed my eyes briefly as he blocked her view of me. By the time he had shifted once more, my face had resumed a more neutral appearance. Despite her apparent confusion over Rodolphus' comment, Isabella merely nodded.

Taking the opportunity to change the subject, I decided to confront her with the details Rodolphus had provided. "I have been informed, Isabella, that you are able to perform complex magic without your wand."

She did not disappoint when it came to these details. True to the Slytherin and paranoid personalities of her parents, her face took on a much more guarded expression as she answered. "What do you mean?"

Rodolphus saved me the hassle of attempting to explain without revealing any information myself. "On our trip earlier, I asked you whether you had been hot in the summertime."

"…Grandmother Higginbotham was using magic." While the statement reflected her confusion regarding a relative she had held in high regard, the name she uttered struck a chord within my memory. There was something incredibly familiar about that name. I did not realize I had been ignoring the conversation between Rodolphus and Isabella until I found myself the recipient of a stinging hex.

"Bloody hell!" My verbal response was more a reaction to the surprise of the hex more than any actual damage done to my person.

Glaring at me, likely both for my uncouth language in front of a lady and for the slight, Rodolphus continued his thoughts. "Why you would choose to ignore the situation – you of __all __people…" Rodolphus' arrogant tone clearly demonstrated his disdain. It seemed quite personal, moreso than I believed to be warranted. "Regardless, it would appear that there was more to the lineage of Isabella's adoptive wards than had been previously disclosed. Though, I can hardly be surprised by that. Considering the sources."

Isabella appeared confused, so I decided to continue her education. "You see, what Rodolphus is referring to is the tendency of the elite to look after themselves before anyone else. Information one finds himself – or herself – in possession of is to be guarded. Though we were given some details about you, I myself was unaware of whether you were a myth until today. It stands to reason, then, that those who knew the full details of your situation would not disclose them."

"And those who knew these details would be…?" Her confusion had evaporated, replaced with a clear curiosity. These Muggle reactions would need to be curbed, and quickly.

"Your wards, your parents, and the one who transported you to the Americas." Rodolphus' response was slightly clipped. I looked to Isabella to see how she would receive the slight rebuke. Other than a slight look of hurt in her eyes, she did not betray her emotions outwardly. I nodded, finishing my firewhiskey.

"You handled that well, Isabella. Despite your higher social ranking than Rodolphus, his age does indeed award him the benefit of deference. Also, his response was not, on its surface, rude – merely his tone was less than ideal." She sat straighter, receiving the praise with the same detachment, other than her eyes. I did note, with some disappointment, that hers were not the nearly-obsidian eagle green of her father's youth, but a paler brown than her mother's bistre-shaded, cinnamon-flecked eyes.

Sitting in the chaise beside her, I tapped my finger on my knee as I crossed my legs. "I think, Rodolphus, it might be easiest to determine where she may be lacking in basic social skills by organizing an outing." My comrade nodded, his thoughts likely still occupied by the same niggling notion regarding 'Grandmother Higginbotham' that I was momentarily ignoring. "In the meantime, I will focus on educating her to the current hierarchy."

Though it was the most mundane of tasks, it was somewhat of an honor to be given the responsibility of making certain that when Isabella made her entrance to the social circles she did so with grace and poise. With the realization that my death would be the result of any disgrace she suffered, I was prepared to expend every bit of effort needed in order to make certain that she knew whom she could safely ignore at an engagement, and to whom she should show any amount of deference. After an hour of teaching her the bloodlines as outlined by Cantankerus Nott more than seventy years gone, and all of the changes in those sacred bloodlines since, the elf Eitri returned.

Ignoring his presence as he approached Rodolphus with his message, I leaned back in my chair. "Do you have any questions?" This role of professor quickly grew on one. I was finally beginning to understand why Severus put up with the other horrors of it for so long.

Her eyes wide, she leaned forward before giving her response. "Was he as crotchety as his name suggests?"

While I was distracted trying to discern her meaning, Rodolphus chimed in, having finished his business with the elf. "Have you been going over Nott's work?"

I nodded, inwardly rolling my eyes. It was the logical place to start, after all. "Of course."

Rodolphus did not even _try_ to hide his disdainful snort. "Isabella, would you care to enlighten him?"

She proceeded to practically recite the text of Nott's work to me. After several minutes, my face growing more brilliantly pink with each passing moment, I held up my hand for her to stop. "I take it you have heard the material before." She nodded. "Then why did you not stop me?"

She sat back in her chair, her head titled to the side as she bit her lower lip in consideration. Another behavior to be quickly quashed. Her voice was hesitant when she finally responded. "I suppose then that I was incorrect and this was not a test of how well I will be able to appear interested while bored to tears."

I was unprepared for that rejoinder and found myself laughing quite openly. The next few hours were filled with similar incidents as I sought to provide her the best understanding of her place within the hierarchy.

Her eyebrows were knitted tightly together as she summarized some of what we had discussed. "So, basically, what you're saying is that even though in our circles I'm considered higher than any of the others, I still have to defer to them until I've proven myself." I nodded, taking a sip from my refilled tumbler. "And how, precisely, should I accomplish that feat?"

It was a conundrum, to be sure. She had a purpose, and not the one for which her existence was originally conceived. In order to achieve that purpose, she had a very specific set of individuals with whom she could ally. Yet even within that group, she would have to demonstrate her skills – both with magic and in every day endeavors, before she would be accepted and given the support which was her birthright.

She was nibbling lightly on her lower lip once more as she continued to allow her thoughts voice. "Pandering to their egos by submitting to a scheduled test would only prove that I am able to perform as any trained monkey. As I understand my parentage, I am not so ill-bred." Rodolphus smiled gently, leaning forward in his chair as he answered her.

"No, Isabella, you are not. And your assessment is accurate. The problem for us, at this moment, does not lie in finding the method by which you should prove yourself, or even the time. The issue before us is, rather, how you should enter into this society. And that is why you are sitting here – 'bored to tears' going over the same material that you and I had exhausted throughout your youthful summers in the States. Thorfinn's role in this is to determine those areas in which you need refinement. Keeping your tongue silent will likely be one of them." Rodolphus held his hand up at her rather vocal disagreement. "The culture in which you were raised was quite different. I did my utmost to make certain that you knew you would need to acclimate to a new one in the event your arrival here ever became necessary. Women, in this society, are the 'silent partners' – they are the 'power behind the throne' so to speak. For the most part. There are a few exceptions to the rule."

"Aren't there always." Though my comment was muttered as I took a sip of my firewhiskey, Rodolphus' aim was still true. His spell shattered the glass in my hand, splashing all of my clothing with the alcohol and embedding shards in my palm. I snarled as I pulled out my wand, casting a harmless jinx in his direction before using a spell to remove the shards carefully. From the corner of my eye, I saw a jet of colored light darting for my leg. Frowning in contempt at having my concentration diverted, I swished my wand to cast a basic deflection shield.

For the next several moments, I was engrossed in removing the shards of glass from my hand and warding off the increasingly dangerous curses that Rodolphus seemed intent to cast in my direction. After finally removing the last shard, I raised my wand as I stood, prepared to duel him formally to end this debacle. "Prepare to defend yourself, Lestrange."

His response was a chuckle as he motioned lazily that he would accept my challenge. Making a mental note to educate my Lord's progeny on the proper etiquette of dueling so she would know exactly in what low regard Rodolphus held me, I attacked. He parried with curses of his own, counter-attacking quite often as our duel wore on. After his tenth spell connected with me and forced me to the floor, I was ready to concede defeat. I never got the chance.

The last spell that I had attributed to Rodolphus had actually come from the opposite direction. Eitri was just visible behind a very familiar set of boots as he backed from the room, trembling, wringing his long elven ears. Standing over me, wand pointed directly between my eyes, was someone even I had assumed had been defeated.

"You will not engage in such antics again, Rowle." His voice was filled with the dark promise of my death, an event I had managed to avoid. An event which I planned to _continue _avoiding.

My inebriation had lowered my inhibitions to the point that my mouth quickly voiced my thoughts without allowing time for me to – at the very least – modulate the tone in which they were uttered. "And who are you to order me?"

Fire flashed in his eyes as he stared down at me, reminding me of my precarious situation. "Her bodyguard."


	4. IV: Antonin

__Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Twilight. I make no profit from this work of fiction.__

****Author's note:****__ As with all authors, I appreciate feedback. Please tell me what you did or did not like so that I can improve. I __**_**do **_**__appreciate knowing where I can improve upon my writing. I need more than "ugh", "your writing sucks!" or "it got confusing," though – so please do try to give some detail.__

**__**Because this affects previous notes of this chapter, I am posting this with the revision**__**__:__

__I'm no longer going to be listing those who favorite/follow the story at the top of each chapter. This is being done for only one reason: some people don't want anyone knowing they're reading my work. So they alert instead of favorite it.__

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><p>"Not exactly an auspicious first meeting." Rodolphus' smug tone grated on my already abused ears, still ringing from the high-pitched screeching to which they had just been subjected. Despite my attempt to save her from harm, my Lady was quite startled by my simply appearing behind her. Although given her reaction, I would certainly need to reconsider using the word "lady" at this juncture.<p>

Using my thumb to gently dab the blood from the corner of my mouth. "Your attempt at levity is less than amusing." She had gotten in several well-aimed hits before Rodolphus had finally seen fit to restrain her. From a good distance away, of course – he certainly didn't want to receive any injuries from her abuse of my person. I chose not to comment on his cowardice as he continued to goad me.

"Don't tell me you've lost your sense of humor in your old age."

I raised an eyebrow as I regarded him in the mirror over the mantle. The twinge of pain the action elicited made certain I resumed my task of healing the wound the little harridan had given me. I waved my wand slightly, feeling the tingling of my magic as it washed over my lip. Staring into my reflection, I watched the skin stitch itself back together. I reached up and gingerly touched my freshly healed lip with one hand. Flicking my wand with the other, I cast another spell to heal the bruised skin around my eye. Despite being grateful that Dubh had been called down to magic the shrew out of the room, I could not help but admire the vigor with which she fought. "While I may be nearly fifty, no one can argue that little spitfire doesn't have an excellent right cross." I would have to make certain to set a schedule for defense training among her many activities, though. She certainly could not be permitted to slug wizards in the manner of a Muggle. "Regardless, it isn't as though we've nothing to teach her. And it is quite gratifying to know that she is able to physically defend herself. But I think she has been sufficiently educated on the futility of that as a sole defense in our world." For some reason, learning that she had a bodyguard was quite upsetting for my new charge. I was thankful that she had not lashed out with a kick as young Muggle women have been wont to do.

Once Rodolphus' spell had taken effect, however, she was completely terrified at the loss of control. Her horror radiated through her very pores. Her fear was evident in her eyes as they dashed from side to side. In the few seconds after the spell connected, her eyes ran through a gamut of emotions. She managed to convey her fear, her concern, and her anger. The last came when she startled to topple to the side, no longer able to balance herself naturally. Even though I had allowed myself a small smirk, I had quickly flicked my wand. Though the spell had caught her in the brief moment before she fell too far, the glare she graced me with promised retribution.

One of the benefits of having fought for the Dark Lord – indeed of being a wizard – was the ability to recognize a change in the atmosphere. Wizards and witches, like all creatures, have the same elemental reactions to certain stimuli. The hairs on my arms had stood on end as the air quickly became filled with her magic. I had watched as arcs of lightning had seemed to dance along her skin before Dubh had entered the room. I had missed Rodolphus' summoning of the elf, but her arrival could not have been more perfectly timed. A quick snap of her elven fingers had the magic which had exploded from my Lady enclosed within a bubble. The light that had erupted within the enclosure had flashed brightly enough to blind me briefly. When my vision had cleared, the house-elf had taken the initiative to completely incapacitate my new charge. It had been odd seeing her floating before me, unconscious and yet still somehow causing magic to spark along her skin. Dubh had nodded before leaving the room with a snap of her fingers.

Thorfinn's voice roused me from my thoughts. He had apparently been thinking about those same moments. "One thing I can say – training her in the use of her magic will be very interesting."

Rodolphus' demeanor became serious. "Yes, Thorfinn, I imagine it will."

* * *

><p>The following weeks were as infuriating as they were informative. I had never been as aggravated and excited over seeing a witch practice her magic as with Isabella. She would far surpass her mother in more than one arena, a fact which Thorfinn had demonstrably proven on several occasions. One of those incidents had finally resulted in him returning to the Dark Lord's chamber, where I was given the honor of administering his punishment.<p>

"I would have thought that after the incident with the Potter brat you would have learned __not __to try my patience." The voice was little more than a hiss, one that I inwardly cringed upon hearing. Standing with my wand drawn, as ordered, I waited for the nod from my Lord before inflicting another _C___ruciatus __upon Thorfinn's prone form. Feeling the dark magic flow through me, I nearly closed my eyes in ecstasy. It had been far too long since I had felt that energy slip along my veins, sensuously sliding beneath my skin and igniting embers that had been allowed to diminish. The overwhelming exhilaration of the darkness pumping through me, seemingly riding alongside my very blood as fire washed through my veins, nearly overtook me completely.

There had been more than one occasion over the past several weeks in which Isabella had enjoyed the same thrilling sensation. She had expressed some timidity initially, though I was uncertain as to whether that resistance came from her magic, her morals, or her wand. Once she had overcome her hesitation, her eyes glittered when the rich essence of the dark magic coiled within her.

"Well, Thorfinn? Have you anything to say?" The light hiss was followed by a slight wave of his hand. Somewhat despondently I ceased my casting, allowing him time to form a response. Truly he should not have allowed himself to become such a dullard over the years. Rodolphus might think him suited to teach Isabella in the ways of the gentry. Clearly, he had not been the wisest choice. Thorfinn was no fool, though. He took advantage of his reprieve.

Keeping his eyes downcast, he managed to haul himself into a more upright position. Rather than writhing on the floor, he was huddled on his knees. Blackened vomit dribbled from his lips as he coughed. Managing to uncurl himself, he straightened the smallest amount before finally speaking. "Mistress, can you forgive this servant?" His voice was quiet, but he had managed to keep from stuttering.

Her response honestly shocked me a bit. Before I started training her, Isabella seemed to be a bit of a bleeding heart. She had apparently wanted to allow anyone any freedom. Rodolphus had explained her initial distaste for how he addressed the house-elves to me. Once I had that information it was quite clear that Isabella would have to be deprogrammed. Muggle ideology tended to ingrain itself deeply, and it appeared that time with the Dwyer woman had done her no favors. Given her history, I could not help but feel a swell of pride when she answered Thorfinn's plea.

"I'll think about it." Her face was stoic, as emotionless as her father's would have been. It was odd observing her behavior while taking in her physical aspect. She was every bit her mother's daughter in appearance, but every inch her father's heir in bearing. Once his role in teaching her was complete, I would not be surprised if the Dark Lord ordered her to end Thorfinn's life. "In the meanwhile, you should consider carefully that you continue to exist at a whim. Whether mine or my father's matters not."

In hindsight, looking up to take in her visage just then was a mistake. Fire licked my skin as I felt every nerve snap to attention. Muscles spasming throughout my body still could not bring me to my knees. The lack of breath in my lungs, however, forced me to lower my gaze out of self-preservation. Her curse relented once I had. Even so, the glorious vision of Isabella embracing the darker side of her nature was well worth the short-lived pain that would result from my punishment.

"Rodolphus, get your lieutenants in line." The Dark Lord's voice was little more than a low growl. Glancing to my side, I saw Rodolphus execute a nearly perfect bow. His response, though quiet, was perfectly clear as he answered.

"Yes, my Lord."

We took that as our cue to exit. Thorfinn crawled to the door, and I could not help but sneer. No amount of torture had ever caused me to debase myself in that manner. Rodolphus waved his hand imperiously to open the doors, and once we were through, allowed them to close quietly behind us. Isabella had remained inside – for which I was thankful in those following moments.

"How dare you?" Rodolphus voice was audible – just. "She is off-limits, Rowle. I wouldn't care if you were the scion of Merlin – you wouldn't be worthy to lick her boots!" I found it strange hearing Rodolphus so irate. This was, after all, the same man who had reportedly been so stoically detached during his trial and sentencing to Azkaban that he had simply stared as the Wizengamot had ordered him to life at the whims of those demented, soulless creatures. "Do you think yourself worthy of her attentions, Rowle?" His blond head could have been a swivel for how rapidly he shook it.

Whatever protestation he had been willing to utter in his pitiable attempts at defense died on his tongue as the door opened and Isabella exited the chamber. She had almost allowed her lip to curl in disgust at seeing him still prostrate before her but had controlled it. The change in her was admirable – though Thorfinn had certainly overstepped his boundaries, his lessons had at least engendered their intended effect. Isabella demonstrated a gentle-born lady's disdain instead of the far more crass reaction that his attentions would likely have received mere weeks earlier.

Her voice was crisp when she finally spoke. "Rodolphus."

"My Lady?" He turned to her, executing a full bow and taking her hand as he answered.

"Father says you may do with him as you will." Her voice was cold. Passionless. For the first time in many years, I smelled fear from my comrade. The stench of it was nearly unbearable. While I reveled in the odor coming from my prey, when it wafted off of my brethren in this manner it made me ill to call them such. Thankfully, I did not suffer his presence in this state for very long.

"Antonin." Her voice was still quiet as she turned her attention to me.

Taking one knee, I bowed as any good courtier. "Yes, my Lady?"

She reached her hand out to me, motioning for me to rise. "My wand withers." Mirth now tinged her voice.

I rose, smiling as I offered her my arm. "This I very much doubt, my Lady." Resting her hand on the inside of my elbow and maintaining the physical distance between us, I escorted her towards the main hall of the manor. As the screams rose behind us and dark energy tickled the air, I shivered. To my surprise, Isabella did as well, though I was not yet certain if the source of her reaction was the same tendril of delight that writhed within my being whenever I was in the presence of the darker magics.

* * *

><p>Days later, I was awakened at an ungodly hour by Bealltrix's screams. There was no hesitation in me as I drew my wand and proceeded to Isabella's chamber. My one concern was her safety. That was my only purpose, and the charge which had been asked of Rodolphus and ordered by my Lord. I did not knock before I entered, and though I found myself on the receiving end of a very painful spell as a result, I would never apologize. My ever-present <em>P<em>__rotego __kept the spell from doing too much damage. The spell I cast in retaliation was quick and precise. The only difference in the casting was that my spell was only meant to incapacitate.

As much as Isabella had been required to learn of our world and her place in it, as much magic as she had been forced to master over a few short weeks, none of it was quite comparable to what I had been required to undertake. For though she faced a quite daunting task, there was nothing so formidable as being required to suppress decades of instinctual reaction. Rodolphus had made a very valid point, though – I would never be permitted to accompany her at Hogwarts were I to immediately kill every threat that came near her. Admittedly, it was a testament to my magic that the energy which had been previously expended in casting deadly curses was now present about me at all times, ever strengthening the magical shield which I kept continuously cast.

Mumbling from the general direction of the bed brought me back to the moment as the sleep finally cleared from my mind. Isabella was glaring at me while Bellatrix cackled gleefully. I shook my head and sighed as I canceled the spells I had used to bind her.

"We will have to work on your non-verbal casting. Though most wizards and witches consider it bad form to cast a __Silencio__, there are certainly those who have no problem attempting to benefit from any and all advantages presented to them." She continued to glare at me, saying nothing. "Don't be bitter that my magic bound you. It doesn't mean someone is more powerful than you, only that they are able to exploit a moment of weakness."

Isabella's lips were turned downward in a deep frown. "That sounds like something people tell losers in duels to keep them coming back so they'll have an opponent the next day." I grinned as Bellatrix's shrill laughter once again filled the air.

"Well said, my Lady." Rodolphus' voice from the doorway caused us both to turn. He pulled a vial from his pocket, handing it to me as he drew near. "Your potion, Antonin." Giving him a single nod, I grasped it firmly. Pulling the cork, I quickly downed the vile-tasting concoction, making certain to prevent my face from giving away the slightest hint of my discomfort. After several moments of silence as he studied my appearance, Rodolphus nodded. Turning to find a mirror, Isabella's shocked gasp echoed through the room.

"You look … so much like Edward." I had not heard her express such sorrow previously. It was disconcerting. Even so, I would need more information if this individual could potentially be a problem.

"Edward?"

"I … He was someone I knew. Back in the States." I nodded, hoping she would continue. She began blinking rapidly. "I had thought myself in love with him."

My eyebrow raised slightly. "Rodolphus, perhaps another donor would be in order."

"No." She swallowed briefly before giving me a wan smile. "No, it's fine. The eyes aren't right, and you look much older than he did. Almost as though I could use this to picture what he would have looked like if…." Looking into her eyes I could see the tears gathering. She pulled herself through the moment, however, without allowing them to fall. "If he had aged."

The statement somewhat perplexed me. "Aged?"

She nodded once decisively. "He's a vampire."

Feeling the muscles around my eyes tighten as I narrowed my eyes while wearing someone else's skin was a unique sensation. Though this was hardly the first time I had used polyjuice, the awareness of the change never dimmed for me. The tension in the room grew to be nearly tangible as Rodolphus stepped completely inside. His voice was calculating as he responded to her revelation.

"You were consorting with the undead?"

"And werewolves too." Taking a step back slowly and softly, I allowed the two of them to stare at one another. This information was apparently news to my comrade. The magic emanating from them both gave me enough warning to increase my __Protego __charm that much more, enabling me to watch the ensuing argument.

I have seen Muggle women throw things at their attackers, and have been the target of such projectiles often enough. It would not have surprised me had Isabella reverted to such. As a testament to her time with us, however, she forewent the customary mode of Muggle tantrum. Her magical assault on Rodolphus' senses caused me to swell with pride as I observed the altercation, for rather than using spells that her opponent would have expected – those which would have engaged him physically – she chose magic which affected his mental state. This type of magic was not, sadly, immediately evident to onlookers. It did, however, have visible results.

Once she had spoken her incantations, sweat rolled down his brow, leaving tracks along his face that those less practiced in torture might have missed. My eyes glittered at the power rolling off of her, which only increased as his mouth opened slightly to take in air. His nostrils flared, his hands began to shake, and still she stared unceasingly into his eyes. Rodolphus fell to his knees after several moments, his eyes still locked with Isabella's. Her words were soft when she finally deigned to address him, her concentration still focused on her immediate objective.

"You mistake me if you think that I am no more than the mudblood scion you brought to this house three months ago. Truly it was to your own detriment leaving me alone in a room to learn from Antonin. He is a master in his field of study. That is, of course, why you chose him as a teacher and guardian to me. His skill with the darker magics exceeds many who have more years on this earth than he. Oh, yes, you taught me dueling alongside him – but those spells were intended for showy victories. Some moments when one demonstrates their prowess aren't for the public. And in those battles – like this one – a flashy spell does nothing more than announce intent."

It was odd hearing my own words fall from her lips, but gratifying. It dawned on me in that moment why Severus had both hated and enjoyed his job as a professor. While teaching an ungrateful brat could certainly be a trying exercise, when a pupil like Isabella came along, the tribulation was decidedly worth the effort expended.

Rodolphus finally dropped his gaze, and the results were immediately evident. His gasps for breath resulted in coughing once he began taking in air too quickly. The shaking in his limbs abated as did the perspiration running in rivulets down his face. Bellatrix's clapping caused me to stop staring at my comrade.

"Nicely done! Very nice indeed." Her gaze left her daughter and her eyes hardened measurably as she took in her prone husband. "Have you learned your lesson, then?" His nod was brief before he began to lift himself from the floor.

I could not help but goad him a bit as he recovered. "Since my appearance is what caused this display, I must ask, where __did __you find this hair, old boy?"

Rodolphus glared at me once he had gotten to his feet. I merely smiled benignly in response. Fully aware that Isabella would want the answer as well, I had no fear of retaliation from him until after we were out of her presence. Even then, there would be little he could do that would harm me without permanent damage, a risk he would not be willing to take.

"I had thought that a relative, somewhat removed, from a member of their Order would be apropos. After all, you would certainly be less likely to instigate a negative reaction should you resemble someone they know."

Turning to look in the mirror, I finally took in my appearance. The light complexion was simply indistinguishable from any other Englishman. The green eyes staring back at me, however, were somewhat of a shock. I noticed that I did look a bit younger than my actual age. Raising an eyebrow at that, I took in some of my other features. Light brown hair that would likely whiten with age, a narrower nose and slightly higher cheekbones stood out as defining characteristics. Should the polyjuice have an opportunity to cease its effectiveness before I was able to dose myself again, these would be elements I would need to recreate with a glamour. The reference to a recognizable member of Dumbledore's little troupe eluded me, though. "Whom am I meant to resemble?"

"The hair was procured from a gentleman by the name of Masen, from Kent." I shook my head, not understanding his obscure references. "Diggle's cousin, a few times removed."

I sniffed, keeping the moue of distaste from settling on my features. "At least it's a Pure-blood relation."

Rodolphus nodded. "No less, Antonin."

Turning to face Isabella, I bowed my head before addressing her. "Is this appearance acceptable to you, my Lady? If not –"

She waved me off. "I have had three months to reconcile myself to the fact that he never truly cared for me. If he had, he wouldn't have run off the way he did." Despite her strong words, she was clearly upset at the thought of her prior acquaintance. Still, I nodded, considering the matter closed.

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><p>Yule had been a somber affair, and as January had approached, Isabella had become increasingly agitated. Even so, when the date arrived, she approached the carriage with grace. Silence reigned during our ride to the train station, and continued as we made our way through the throng. Walking through King's Cross was certainly a different experience. Her bearing and her beauty caught many eyes, but the flash of my wand – transfigured to appear as a Muggle revolver – averted many onlookers' eyes. I imagined that a few would be talking for some time, though, of how she seemed to 'simply vanish' as we entered platform nine and three-quarters.<p>

I was grateful for my forethought in insisting upon the carriage. Not only did the potion have time to take effect, but Isabella had the time necessary to acclimate herself to my appearance. IWhen I observed who else would be riding on the train, I appreciated the foresight even more.

Isabella waited until nearly everyone else had boarded before approaching the locomotive. As expected, the only compartment with seats available would be with him. Whether Isabella had intended that prior to her delay on boarding or it was simply a fortuitous side effect, I did not know. Regardless, it was worth the wait to see her sit calmly across from him, with that bored yet harassed look about his person.

He had looked up from his reading almost immediately when we entered. His eyes had roved over her in a most unseemly fashion. He contemplated the empty seat beside her – though I accompanied her, I did not sit next to her. It needed to be clear to everyone – including this weasel – that I was here to protect her. He had stared at her, not speaking until she had settled herself.

"You look familiar." The silky tone in his voice reminded me too much of his father. "Have we met?" His intent was transparent. Even if I had not been charged with her protection, I would have been affronted at the idea that he would consider approaching someone in such a way.

"Not formally. Though, I'm not surprised you should think so, Draco." His cadet grey eyes widened slightly at her address, and his Malfoy upbringing abandoned him when he took in her face as she met his eyes. A chill filled the compartment as a dark smile spread across her face. "Hello, cousin."

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><p><em><em>My profuse thanks to those of you who have read thus far. I have many plans for this tale, and hope you will enjoy the reading as much as I will the telling. If the story has engendered any kind of reaction from you, please do let me know.<em>_


	5. V: Marie

****Disclaimer:****__I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Twilight. I make no profit from this work of fiction.__

****Author's note: ****__Last chapter ended at a moment that coincided with where Violet Voltori's story ended. I'm certain if you've looked at her story that it's clear she intended Harry and Bella to both be students at the school. This is one of the changes I've made in the tale, and hopefully the story is strengthened for it.__

__Addendum: apparently, it needs to be said that this chapter is Marie talking to Bella. As such, I've added the quotation marks to satisfy certain individuals.__

__**Because this affects previous notes of this chapter, I am posting this with the revision**____:__

__I'm no longer going to be listing those who favorite/follow the story at the top of each chapter. This is being done for only one reason: some people don't want anyone knowing they're reading my work. So they alert instead of favorite it.__

__I want to be sure this is clear - ____**I still appreciate every single review, favorite and alert **____that I receive, on this story or any other.__

__Review responses – and announcements – will be posted here: (FB URL) /pages/RogueMudblood/684906514892205__

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><p>"Long before my Renée was born, I lived across the ocean. Wales is a different place to this America, and the Wales I knew was by <em><em>far <em>_different. Some things aren't supposed to be explainable to those who have no ability to understand them. The things I grew up with were among them, and though I would never be able to perform magic on the same scale as my brother, I was hardly ignorant of those happenings which Muggles could never understand.

"I grew up close to Cardiff, near to the land which was the origin for my family name. My family's lands were far from the Muggle metropolis, and at the time I left it had only been capital of the isle for a decade. Despite my lower magical abilities, I did not often attempt to mingle with Muggles. They are, as you know, beneath us. My Renée never did understand that.

"You met werewolves during your time in Washington, and that was something which I had hoped would not happen. Though they were certainly an asset to your father during his tribulations with the boy… the __man __you will meet. Werewolves are dirty creatures that have no right to share the same freedoms as the rest of magical folk, even near-Squibs like me. Their bites rob even the magical populace of otherwise decent people.

"Don't misunderstand me, dear Bella. They are welcome to feed on the Muggles to some extent, but I certainly wouldn't want to allow them free reign there either. Why do you think we allowed tales of them to escape the magical world? Even in those dark days for Muggles where they tried to burn our kind at the stake – really, as though apparition or a portkey wouldn't save a true witch – we understood that if the werewolves turned all Muggles, they would only have the magic folk left for their food source. None of us, not even the Muggle-lovers, are foolish enough to grant werewolves that type of autonomy.

"So, my dear, what I must tell you is not entirely happy news. Though you were friends with the boy Jacob, his kind is no more trustworthy than the vampire to whom you would have granted your love. Jacob's breed is different from the werewolf whose arrival prompted my move to the States, however. The Quileute are wolves conceived under the new moon, a sign which old Quil knew to worry about.

"Yes, I know all about them – my history is not nearly as known to you as you think. I have many things to tell you, and not much time to tell them.

"There are much more bloodthirsty wolves than those you have met. These are the ones turned by the bite. Before I moved to the States, to the farthest part I could in order to escape my history, I met one such wolf. He came to our lands one night, from Cardiff. He was pursued by his victim's father, a pure-blooded wizard who had fallen in love with a Muggle woman when she stumbled upon our world. He should have modified her memory, let the Muggle woman think it was merely a nightmare that she had seen. Instead, he defended her, allowed her to remember the incident and him – and eventually he fell in love with her. He married her and she gave birth to his son.

"This same man was wise in the ways of the creatures of magic, and knew the signs of the bitten wolves. He knew when he was facing one, knew that it would only turn fully when the moon waxed full, and only at night. Still, even knowing their strength, he underestimated their penchant for vengeance. Or, at least, this particular wolf's desire for revenge for a perceived slight. He made a statement in the wolf's hearing that he should not have – for anyone who provokes a predator does so at their own risk. Unfortunately, this particular wolf knew that the most detrimental thing would be to force the man's own child to live the same life that he had so callously ridiculed.

"On that fateful night in 1965, the werewolf whose service was grudgingly given to your father attacked a child. A young boy whose father had insulted the mongrels was condemned to live as one of them that night, and so he did ever since. My involvement is not in relation to his story, or that of his mother Hope, or his father Lyall. I am not telling you about his victim to explain any intricacies of the being called Fenrir Greyback.

"Instead I mention him so that you will know what precipitated my move to the States. And, many years later, your own.

"That night he came running onto our lands in his wolfen form. I would have been happy to allow my brother and father to give him the torture he so justly deserved. They were, unfortunately, not at home at the time. Unfortunately, this meant that I would need to handle the situation myself. As I have mentioned, my magic was not as strong as theirs, and I was not as adept at using it. You'll recall that the few times you saw me using magic – though you did not know at the time that is what it was – the effort drained me greatly. It has always been thus. Sadly, this meant that I was unable to adequately defend myself when Fenrir came crashing into my home.

"I will tell you something that you may not know: you should never make a deal with a demon. He will always come to collect. And make no mistake – bitten wolves have a demon living within their souls.

"You see, it wasn't at night that the wolf made himself known to me. I felt the passing of people through our wards. It was one thing that my limited magic _would_ allow. My father and brother apparated to the site of the disturbance and helped in the search. I retired to my rooms. The next morning, the wolf came into the kitchen while I was giving the daily instructions to the house-elves.

"You should know that during the day, even during the days of the full moon, the bitten wolf will look like any other man. This particular wolf was unkempt and appeared to be nothing more than a Muggle troglodyte. I knew very well though that the wards around our home prevented Muggles from finding us, much less entering our home. Thus I was aware of that which stared me down that morning.

"Several of them left the room immediately in search of my father. Others rallied around me to defend me from the intruder. They put up a valiant effort. Unfortunately, the elves in our household had been with us for many years, and births were rare among them. Those who had stayed to defend me relied solely on their magic. They didn't possess much agility at their age. With rage and necessity fueling him, Greyback was not hindered in the least by the spells cast upon him. Oh, I'm certain he felt the effects of the magic later on. But at the time, he did not even slow down. As they gathered around me, trying to shield me from him, he ripped their arms from their sockets. He tossed them about as though they were no more than rag dolls.

"The protective spell I'd cast around myself surely would not hold up to such a dangerous creature. Even in my youth, I knew that. I was fully aware of my limitations. Several of the elves used the last of their magic to reinforce my own. I wasn't curled in a ball, or anything of that sort, but I was aware that my paltry magic would not slow him, nor would I be able to physically harm him.

"When he had eliminated all of the servants, he turned to me, chest heaving. He offered me a deal. My life for a favor to be named at a later date. I was too terrified not to accept. Defeated as I was, with house-elves lying dead in our kitchen, I knew the only other options were permanent death or a death to my soul which would have me joining him. His toothy grin would have frightened anyone, I should think, and I am not ashamed to say that I was dearly scared of him. He asked my name, which I gave, and his grin only grew.

"Higginbotham. One who dwells in the valley of the mountain-ash. He felt it fitting that my name put me as a servant at the bottom of a mountain. And he made certain that I was aware of his disdain for my name, my person, my lack of magical ability despite my blood status – everything about me he made it clear he hated throughout the years of our acquaintance. I was no better to him, I admit.

"He told me that day that I would be a servant of the man to sit highest upon any mountain when he called on me. I have no idea if the reason he finally came to me was the one for which he had originally intended me – and I have my doubts that it was. Still, when he left that day I counted myself lucky. He had left me alive, though terrified. When my father returned home and I explained what had happened, he advised me that I would be leaving immediately.

"Understandably, the news upset me. I had been betrothed since birth to one of the noblest families in all of Britain. It was fitting – our family had held lands in Cheshire since before the time of __Guillame le Conquerant__. Needless to say I was quite unhappy at the idea of having to marry some foreign-born wizard when my father declared he was sending me to the Americas. Even so, I knew my place. I would do what was required of me.

"As I was packing my brother informed me of what had happened to Lyall's boy. I had sympathy for him – he had not asked to be saddled with the demon that would inhabit him until the end of his days. On my way through the manor to the carriage I considered detouring to speak to Lyall, to ask him to have pity on the boy and kill him. Coming to the main hall of our abode and seeing him standing there, stricken as he was, begging for information on a cure... I knew that it would be a waste. Pleas to him would go unheard, and his wife would likely be far less receptive. We women are protective of our offspring, even when we know there is something abhorrent within them.

"So I was sent to the States, to keep me as far from the werewolf as possible. Arriving in New York harbor, I did not stay on the east coast for very long. The wizarding community there was spread somewhat thin. But then, what can you expect given the history of witch hunts in the area? It certainly didn't appeal to me to stay there.

"Within weeks I found myself on the west coast. It was far easier to explain mishaps in that climate, I discovered. Muggles were very apt to believe whatever they were told when they saw something implausible that they didn't want to accept. It helped that I was in California, the land of 'silver screen' magic. And many Muggles refused to accept that anything which wasn't mundane could exist, much less walk among them.

"I spent as little time as I could in their presence. They are distasteful creatures, and I kept to our folk as much as I was able. Yet, as I found over the years, the communities were very much intertwined. The wizarding folk in the area had reached out to the Muggles so they could learn how to fool them. Make no mistake – there was no benevolence involved when they opened the lines of communication.

"Two years after my arrival in California, Renée's father came from Wales. He imperiously demanded that I submit to our betrothal terms. I was in no position to argue, nor did I truly wish to – as long as he would provide for me and any children, there was no issue in my mind as to what needed to be done. He agreed, and in 1968, my Renée entered the world. Shortly after her birth, I received a letter from Fenrir reminding me of my agreement. I simply penned back that my child was not to be taken as payment.

"Several weeks later, Fenrir arrived on my doorstep. I had made the fatal mistake of becoming complacent, relying on my husband's magic to warn me if there was anything non-magical near our property. He had as much disdain for the American magical community's decision to interact with Muggles as he had for the werewolf standing on the doorstep that day. Sadly, neither of us had had the foresight to set a warning for anything other than Muggles. I opened the door as carelessly as I would have for any member of the magical community.

"The shocked gasp that escaped me as I took in his face must have brought him great amusement. He gave me a toothy grin as I hid my baby from his sweeping gaze. Though no words were spoken in our brief meeting that day, his meaning was clear. He knew where I was, and how to get to me. I could not hide from him. That did not mean I would not try.

"We must have stared at each other in silence for quite some time, plans forming in my mind of how to escape him if I lived through that single encounter. To say he surprised me when he simply turned from me and departed would be a vast under-representation of the facts. I could swear I heard him chuckling as he made his way down the path. In those same moments I was making plans to depart as soon as it would be possible. I could have sworn he was laughing at me then.

"Renée was still an infant when I traveled up to Washington from our California home. My husband did not make the trip with me. At the time I had not questioned it for it was often during my youth that I would find one of my parents at home and the other away for an indeterminate span of time. Later, I would realize that he was taking the opportunity to disappear, but at that moment my only concern was for my child.

"Washington was more moist than California by far, and though it was somewhat gloomy, it was more familiar than the sunny state where I had made my home. I was certainly not unhappy with the profuse rainstorms that littered the area that the coven had made home. They called themselves by Muggle terms so that the mundane simpletons would not realize what lurked among them. I could certainly appreciate the duplicity. One of them professed to be a seer and told me that my dear babe would be a Squib. Though I was not shocked by the news, I was certainly not pleased with the information.

"I suppose it was as an apology that they offered me the knowledge of their friends. Being taken to the Quileute reservation was not an experience I wished to have often. Even my diminished magic could sense the disturbance prevalent in the atmosphere of the place. Yet the wizarding folk of this area claimed these people as allies, so I resigned myself to not making any trouble. Imagine my surprise when Old Quil stared at me as ardently as I was trying __not __to stare at him. When I finally met his gaze, he told me that he could sense that I had met another type of wolf.

"After my shock wore off – for I could sense no magic among these people – we spent several days in discussions. I learned a great deal from him that I would not have known about wolves. Several weeks later, when I discovered that my husband had abandoned his family but left us a tidy sum by which to live, I found myself grateful for the time I spent in Old Quil's company.

"He had a strict rule while I was on his reservation – no magic. Certainly he understood there were some things that were as natural to me as breathing, and these things would not cease. But no overt magic was to be practiced on his tribe's grounds. To my dying day I did not know whether that was a rule he maintained for any of our kind, or if it was simply for me because he knew what was to come.

"I learned in my time there that I was quite capable of hard labor, despite the fact that I loathed the manual monotony of it. Because the group relied on each other, I had assigned tasks. It reminded me of the Amish societies I had come across on my original journey westward. Those mundane tasks that even Muggles assigned to their servants filled my days. I didn't appreciate the necessity of learning those tasks until much later, when I returned to California with my Renée.

"Not being able to rely on my magic also enabled me to hone my senses. Interestingly enough, a side effect of this process was that I became far more attuned to the magic in the atmosphere. The strength of my spells increased after I left his company, and I have always thought that the time I spent there was largely responsible for that.

"Yet I could not sojourn eternally, despite what I may have liked to do. I returned to California, devastated when I found my husband had abandoned me and my Renée. Yet I persevered. I imagine that these events, occurring so quickly in conjunction with one another, are part of the reason I became so bitter. As Renée would put it, I always looked for the bad things in life. I think it was more that all the bad things seemed to find me.

"Years went by largely without incident – a few random visits from Fenrir simply to remind me that he was alive and knew where I was. As though I could forget his first visit. I suppose he didn't want me to become complacent, or to forget my promise and protest when he came to collect. I knew better than to so callously disregard a demon. I was only glad that he had not managed to follow me to Washington. I shuddered to think of a battle between him and the Quileute.

"When Fenrir's master was inexplicably defeated in 1981, I felt a brief moment of triumph. It did not last long, though. He made certain to let me know that I was still beholden to him. His random visits were no longer limited to my home. He would randomly turn up at the grocer's. Those excursions would generally result in whispers permeating the air. So his appearance on my doorstep a few years later came as no surprise. Instructed to give no word of discouragement when my daughter was courted by someone with the last name of Swan, I simply nodded. Fenrir left my home, but not the States. The atmosphere crackled with bad omens, and even then I knew that terrible things were being put into motion.

"At least, I assumed they were terrible. I could never prove my suspicions, and I never gave any indication to Renée that I approved of her decision to travel north on a road trip. When she wrote home and told me of Charlie Swan, I was unsurprised. Whether he was a willing participant, genuinely loved her, or was under some magical compulsion I did not know. It was of no consequence at any rate. There was little I would be able to do to stop her from engaging in the relationship. Had I been more powerful magically … Well, in truth, I would likely not have survived my first encounter with Fenrir as I would have foolishly attempted to fight him. Even so, my shock when she told me she was pregnant can never be adequately conveyed. Still, I sent her mother's quilt as a gift and stayed away from her knowing that something was planned for her. I could only assume its nature given that a werewolf was involved.

"It was in September of 1987 that Fenrir came to me again. He explained only that which he wanted me to know to carry out the part which he was assigning to me. His master was using me as his tool, just as he used Fenrir. It was clear that the being known throughout the wizarding world – not just in Britain – as the Dark Lord Voldemort was certainly not defeated. Despite what certain parties would have believed, he was alive. Though he certainly could not be considered well.

"Later I would learn the level of magic involved in your conception, dear Bella. Your father's abilities are truly unimaginable given what difficulties he surmounted so that you could exist. I never knew the full details. I did know, without even a slight doubt, that you were not truly of my lineage. I never revealed that fact to my Renée. She would not have accepted the truth, having long since written off the histories of wizards that I had given her as nothing more than 'fairy tales'.

"But do not mistake me, Bella. You are his heir because he felt he would need corporeal form. Remember that he is willing to consort with demons, and be wary in any dealings you have with him. As it turned out, he was not in need of your physical form before you came of age. This is to your benefit, as you have come into your own abilities. I always felt your magic crackling in the air about us, even when I wasn't trying to. It was an electrifying sensation.

"Despite all of this, remember that no matter how you came to be in the world, your life is a precious gift. You should not allow anyone to usurp it, no matter their intent. When you touch the magic and allow it to coil around you, when you feel the elemental surge of unknown and untapped energies you know are beyond your ken, remember that there is an order to the universe which cannot be unbalanced.

"Your destiny lies before you. It saddens me that Renée felt it necessary to take you from my home, but I can understand her reasoning. And I died believing that the nightmare had ended. Unfortunately, it has not, as recent events have revealed. For you, I fear, it is just beginning.

"That, though, will have to be a discussion for another time perhaps. For now, it is time for you to wake."


	6. VI: Minerva

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><p>"Everything appears to be in order." Laying the papers down on the desk, I cleared my throat slightly as I looked up to meet her gaze. "I must say it's certainly unusual to have a transfer at this point in the year. We'll certainly do our best to make you feel welcome here at Hogwarts, though, Miss Swan."<p>

"Thank you." I caught her gaze as she uttered the words, the slight glint there causing me to suppress a shudder. Her lips were pursed as though uttering the simple phrase harmed her in some way.

"Quite." I looked down briefly, adjusting my glasses to allow me to look over the rim at her. The flash of irritation in her eyes was unmistakable. My eyebrow rose as I spoke. "The matter of your enrollment, though, does present a small difficulty." Her lips pressed together tightly, causing the color to fade from them. Picking up the paper with the British Ministry's seal, I reviewed the scores regarding her level of prowess. "In most matters you show that you're ready for sixth year study. There is the small matter, however, of your score in – "

"If I may." It was the first time the wizard who had accompanied her into my office had spoken at all. "Her relocation from the States has certainly been a trial for her. With that in mind, I have been retained by her family in order to tutor her, as well as to protect her while she is here."

I began sifting through the papers once more, pulling another with the signature of the acting head of the aurory clearing this wizard for residence at Hogwarts during the school term. I managed to keep my reaction from showing in an obvious way, making a mental note to contact Kingsley and get to the bottom of this matter. Even the Blacks had not sent guards to the school for their daughters. Those women, though, _were_ consummate Slytherins and at home among peers who would not dare to challenge them. This young witch was an outsider of whom nothing was known. It was probably only for the sake of prudence that Kingsley had approved such a guard, aware the distrust that would greet her after all that had happened.

Still, I could not help but be wary of this man. His piercing green eyes spoke of an unnatural shrewdness. Setting down her paperwork, I turned my full attention to him. "Do you have anything showing me your teaching credentials? I can't very well simply accept you as her tutor. These papers only approve you as a guard, not a mentor."

Watching his face, it seemed for a moment that he had suppressed a sneer of disgust. I merely arched an eyebrow as I waited for him to produce some documents which would verify his claim to be able to educate her in a magical course of study. I had not risen to the level of headmistress without having to deal with the shenanigans of students. His hesitation conveyed his irritation with my request quite clearly. Finally capitulating, he gave me a brief nod as he reached into his inner breast pocket and produced a scroll. With a flick of his fingers, he levitated it to me. I did not bother to disguise my smirk of amusement. After reading over the scroll, I simply sent it back to him the same way he had presented it. He openly smiled as he returned it to his inner pocket.

"Well, then." I stood, walking around the desk. Offering my hand to Miss Swan, I waited until she accepted it before continuing. "That's all in order. You'll be joining the sixth year classes, Miss Swan." A flick of my wrist had my wand falling into my hand. With a brief wave, the case holding the Sorting Hat floated gently towards us. "Before we go down to the feast, there is the matter of sorting you." Opening the case, I gently reached for the Hat, feeling its worn leather spring to life at my touch. Its voice echoed in the otherwise quiet office as it woke.

"Oh, I'm to be used before September then?  
>'Tis a strange occurrence indeed when<br>Before the ninth month I must answer a summon  
>To decide a place for one amongst the coven."<p>

I graced the girl with a gentle smile as I placed the hat atop her head. A light sweat had broken out on her brow as the Hat began to settle itself on her head. The leather squeaked a little more loudly than I was accustomed to. Its seemed to scrunch itself quite a bit more tightly than for first years, as though having difficulty reading the girl for sorting.

"Hm. A soul in torment do I see  
>Still shall I find a place for thee.<br>In the house of the loyal wouldst thou well fare  
>But I think it imprudent to place thee there.<br>In the house of the brave thy soul would thrive  
>Yet for another group dost thou show more drive.<br>Among those of quick wit thine intellect would grow  
>I fear that so too would the depth of thy woe.<br>For into this school of magic I see thy best admission  
>Will be into the house of the cunning Slytherin."<p>

I nodded in acceptance of the proclamation. It was hardly surprising given her demeanor since she had entered. Both she and her escort had given off an air of suppressed superiority. The wizard stood firmly behind her as I removed the Hat from her head, placing it back in its case.

"Resting once more I shall be  
>Until once again you are in need of me.<br>When that day comes I will awake  
>But be careful that the earth doth not quake.<br>For the darkness ahead can clearly be seen  
>Once more heralded by a banner of green."<p>

I pressed my lips tightly together, turning from the newest student so she could not discern my concern. The Hat had never been wrong in years past with any of its predictions. I quickly pulled a small bit of parchment from the stack of house assignments laying in one corner of my desk. Tapping my wand to a slip of parchment, I watched as it folded in on itself, giving me a moment to consider the revelation. I met the eyes of the portraits in the room, two in particular expressing great interest in the unfolding events. Making a note to question them on the matter in detail, I dispatched the note to the head of Slytherin house.

Returning my attention to the young lady, I found that her apparent guardian had already taken the liberty of transfiguring her robes. Indeed, she appeared more appropriately dressed than most in her house. I nodded once, pursing my lips slightly. This 'mentor' would bear close watching. He met my gaze, his eyes sparkling with a small amount of mischief. Shaking my head gently, I brought my attention back to my newest charge.

"Right then. I shall, of course, make a brief introduction of you in the Great Hall, so that the other students will know that you are __both __to be accepted as fixtures in the halls of Hogwarts." Extending my hand, I made a motion towards the door. As she rose, she gave me a polite smile as would be expected from a lady of breeding. Her escort seemed to preen a bit in approval. It struck me as a particularly odd gesture, but I had learned a great deal in my many years of association with Albus Dumbledore. One of the chief lessons had been to always keep secrets. Though a trait not generally perceived as being indigenous to Gryffindors, it was certainly a beneficial characteristic. After all, one of the best kept secrets of the house itself was that bravery did not require an absence of fear, despite the misapplication of the word 'reckless' by many a critic of Godric's bold chosen.

We made our way from the office to the Great Hall without incident. I stayed a step or two behind the pair, allowing him to escort her in the full sense of the word – he seemed to be treating her as though she were royalty. I might have to discuss with him the logistics of continuing that behavior within the confines of the school. During her regular class hours, it might pose a slight problem. Something worth watching, but best to see how everyone reacted to her before insisting on changes to their behavior.

I left them at the open main doors, making my way to the side entrance. Pomona was conversing with a fair few of her charges, smiling at the stories they were telling her of their adventures over the break. Lightly touching her arm as I passed to advise her it was time to take our places among the dais, I continued on my way, stopping when I arrived in front of a very familiar face.

I grinned, pulling the young man before me into a firm hug. "It's been a long time."

"Not too long, Headmistress." Pulling back as he spoke, he smiled warmly at me, looping my hand through his arm as he escorted me to my chair.

The chair seemed to pull itself out as the young wizard moved his hand. I could not help but grin as I stepped around the chair, letting him see a sparkle that I had once feared would never return to my eye. "Long enough, I should think."

He gave me a cheeky grin once I was seated. "Did you ever think, all those years ago, that you would be standing here?"

"All those years! Listen to you, then." Anyone looking at him could clearly see that he was stifling his amusement. I decided to goad him a bit, taking advantage of the situation to dissipate some of the tension that meeting had created. "I should appreciate it very much if you took greater pains to make me sound less like a withering old fool and more like the spry harridan you know me to be!" He laughed then, a sound many had often thought should never be heard again. None could blame him after all of the things that had happened in his life. Still, he had always been able to surprise even those who knew him best.

Seeing me at the center of the dais was a signal to the hall. Students and teachers alike made their way to their respective seats. I patted his arm gently as he released my hand, turning fully to face the student body as he walked back to his seat. I rose slowly, the remaining conversations echoing through the hall dying out swiftly as I cast a _Sonorus_ to make myself heard.

"Welcome back, students. I hope you all had wonderful holidays." I waited for the few groans to die down as the realization of being back at school finally set in completely. "There are a few matters we need to discuss. First, I would like you all to welcome a new student." Extending my hand towards the Slytherin table, I waited for the young lady and her escort to rise. He stood first, offering her his hand to help her rise from her seat. It was not until she had fully stood that I realized she – or he – had modified the seat she had occupied. I managed to keep the frown from alighting my lips, but the ire I felt could not be hidden in my eyes. The wizard caught my gaze, meeting it impassively. I made a mental note to check the papers more carefully. If he had attended Hogwarts in his own youth, then he was fully aware that this behavior was not acceptable, even among the Slytherins. Not even Draco Malfoy had been so arrogant as to transfigure a virtual throne in the Great Hall.

My irritation at the presumption was evident in my voice as I continued. "This is Miss Isabella Swan, arriving newly from the States. She has been sorted into Slytherin, where I trust she will be welcomed." There was a smattering of applause among those in her new house. "In order to make certain that she has no trouble between the different curricula from her previous school and Hogwarts, she has been allowed to bring in a private tutor." He gave a curt nod before offering her his hand once more. She primly took her seat, her elegant posture speaking volumes to the Slytherins who were watching her every move. Some things, regardless of the absence of certain individuals, never seemed to change. Even when I was a student the Slytherins had carefully watched any new students for potential weaknesses.

Brushing my irritation aside, I did my best to give a genuine smile to the students as I continued with the announcements. "We also have a special guest who will be joining us in Defense Against the Dark Arts on occasion." Extending my hand this time to the Gryffindor table, the young man with whom I had been conversing stood with a slight blush coloring his cheeks. The applause was much more pronounced, and he quickly reclaimed his seat. "For those few of you who may not recognize him, I assure you he is highly qualified for the position." Tittering could be heard among the staff table. When I did not hear the scoff I had expected, I turned towards the newest addition to Hogwarts' long-term staff. He had only been teaching Arithmancy for two years, but he had certainly made a favorable impression among the students, despite his past history.

His silence at this moment spoke volumes, as did the trickle of sweat running from his brow down his cheek. Weakness was not something anyone with his background was known for displaying. Following his gaze, I knew I would be seeking information from the portraits this evening. I certainly would not be able to postpone the interrogation I intended to give the portraits of those two conniving wizards. I had hoped to be able to retire early for the evening. I noted that his stare did not waver, even through the rest of my short speech and the commencement of the feast. Only when the subject of his musings took a sip from her goblet and turned her gaze on him did he finally lower his eyes. I turned my gaze back to the subject in question only to find Isabella Swan staring at me in a most peculiar manner.

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><p>"You most certainly are aware of something, you old goat!" I had been arguing with the portrait for the better part of half an hour. After the first time someone had walked in during the conversation I had been forced to seal off the stairwell for the evening.<p>

If he had been alive, the former headmaster's eyes would certainly have been twinkling. "Now, Minerva –" I raised my hand, giving him a tight grin as his jaw clacked when his mouth snapped shut.

"Don't you even __try __to placate me, Albus! You were keenly interested in her sorting. You perked up from the moment she came in the room." My hands were on my hips as I glared at him. Knowing that it was not the same man who had taught me transfiguration those many years ago did not stop me from addressing him with the same fire I had presented to the man from which he was drawn.

He had kept his silence for several moments, likely hoping my anger would drain out of me. When he finally did respond, the answer he gave only served to inflame my temper once more. "I was asleep."

"You were __feigning __sleep." If I were a less controlled witch, sparks would have been shooting from my hands. TO his credit, he seemed to realize his mistake, cowering away from the front of his frame. "I've learned your fronts, and I generally don't push you for information. This situation is different."

I disliked arguing with portraits. Unfortunately, it was the way of Hogwarts' headmasters to pass information down to the successors of the office through their portraits rather than more mundane means. Sadly, my former colleague passed his habit of being stingy with necessary details on to his portrait. I frowned as I became increasingly riled. I knew my hair would certainly be a mess in the morning, an explosion of frizz from my repression of the magics straining within me.

My attention was quickly diverted by another voice. "Perhaps if you tried being less of a Gryffindor about gathering information." The drawl came from the other portrait which had shown far too much interest in the new student.

I turned to him, glaring. Despite the way he stood, keeping his hands clasped behind his back, he could not keep a distance from his role in this matter. "You know something of import as well, and I daresay you'd be best served by sharing it." Sighing, I sat down behind the desk, letting my gaze shift from one to the other. "I had thought you were done keeping information from me that you knew I required to best run this institution."

A snort was the response from the second portrait. "You don't have enough hours in a year in order to listen to all that I know." I reached a finger beneath the neckline of my dress robe, gently lifting the chain resting there. "Even __with __your time turner, Minerva." Dropping the chain, I glared at him. "Your cold gaze did nothing to me in life, witch. Surely you don't expect it to have an effect on me now." A snicker from the other portrait diverted my attention.

"Albus..." My drawl told him my patience had been nearly exhausted.

He sighed, finally choosing to give a less obscure answer. "Minerva, it may in fact be nothing."

"Hah!" The laugh had boomed out of me, echoing through the chamber a bit and waking several of the other portraits. "The last time you thought such a thing, it took two wars to set it right, you old coot!"

If a portrait could be said to be glaring, Albus Dumbledore's was certainly doing a passable job of it. "There really isn't much to tell you right now. You know her name, you have the documents as to her magical prowess. Until I have more information, there's nothing for me to definitely advise you."

"Hmph." It went without saying that I was unsatisfied by my results. Those two were intentionally stonewalling me. It was time to try a different perspective. "And her escort?"

The second portrait seemed more unsettled by that question, though it was Albus' portrait which answered. "I beg your pardon?"

"What of the wizard who is traipsing about with her?" I fairly growled the question at the pair. Had Fred Weasley been alive, I would gladly have invited both him and his twin into the conversation to at least offset the obstinate responses I kept receiving.

Albus seemed to be considering the matter carefully. After several minutes of silence he finally responded. "You would do well to consider any familiar aspects of him."

I pondered his response, closing my eyes to better picture the wizard. After several moments, I opened my eyes, my brow furrowed. "Nothing is immediately evident." Albus simply nodded before folding his arms, leaning back on his chair, and closing his eyes. Giving him one last glare, I suppressed a sigh of frustration.

The second portrait sighed, drawing my attention to him. "He's always been tight-lipped, even when giving hints. Minerva, remember one thing for me." I nodded to the former headmaster, though his tenure was one of the shortest. "Slytherins are known for secrecy. There is no way her escort would be accepted in that house if he were not able to hold his own among them. And there is certainly no way that he would have been able to transfigure her portion of bench and leave the rest without an outcry if the Slytherins themselves were not already in some way aware of her abilities – and his."

I took a moment to mull over his observations before turning sharply back to him. "And just how did you happen upon that information?" He had no alternate portrait in the Great Hall, and as far as I was aware, none in the Slytherin commons either. That he had such an account from dinner was most curious.

"Ha!" It was a rare occasion that he allowed himself such a boisterous outburst. "Surely you haven't forgotten." I watched, color rising in my cheeks, as he walked quietly between frames.

"Touché ." He clucked his tongue at me, my anger rising quickly at his cheek. "You insufferable –"

"Now, now, Minerva. No need for such deprecating things to be said of a dead man." His smirk offset his words, as did the chuckle from Albus' portrait.

Snorting, I crossed my arms over my chest as I turned away from him. Recalling my earlier thoughts about the Weasley twins, I returned to him, dropping my hands to my hips as I batted my eyes. Those boys were certainly not the only Gryffindors who could have a spot of fun. His head jerked back in surprise. Allowing my voice to take on a syrupy quality, I responded. "But it would be one of the nicer things that had been said about you."

He scowled, turning his back to me and leaving his frame. I glanced around the office but did not find him lurking in any of the other portraits.

The aggravated sigh had me turning back to Albus' portrait. "Will you ever leave him be, Minerva?"

"We shared a camaraderie in life you didn't understand, Albus. It is no surprise to me that is one area in which your portrait is also lacking insight." In such moments it was with great sadness that I had to acknowledge that no matter how life-like the portraits might be, they were not truly my old friends. They were merely magical depictions of them.

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><p>I had asked various portraits many years prior to follow new students about the castle. There was no doubt in me that Albus had done much the same for how omniscient he had often seemed to be. Frequently, one of the various painted people would come running through the landscape frames I had placed in the office for just such occasions. Many of the headmasters had complained of being awakened when a portrait child would come traipsing through their frames, so I had taken a simple measure to appease them. Filius' charm work had made it so that when the landscape portrait had an occupant, I was immediately notified. It had proven to be an invaluable tool over my years in the office.<p>

The day after a new student arrived, there were generally two scenarios I could choose from as to the reason for the alarm. Either they had been attacked by other students, or they had attacked other students. Such was not the case when Tremlett's French warrior maid came riding her battle horse, bare-breasted. It certainly fit with his Muggle heritage that he had painted her topless – they tended to feel their women were better displayed when they hid nothing. Deplorable, really.

"Headmistress!" Her voice was shrill as she called out, alerting me to the seriousness she assigned the situation. "There has been an incident!" A wave of my hand as I lowered my quill brought my robes and hat to my outstretched palm.

"Where?" My voice was clipped as I slipped my robes on, fixing my hat firmly atop my head.

"In the turris magnus."

I stopped moving entirely, almost certain that my heart had leaped from my chest and into the frigid air of the room. It seemed to be seized with ice as I forced myself to confirm my suspicion. "DADA?"

She nodded, other portions of her portrait noticeably bobbing as well. "The same, madam."

I nodded, taking my leave of her. Rushing to the tower, I took no mind of the various students I passed. Waving my wand as I reached the tower, I opened the door which would lead me to the store room just off of the classroom I needed. Moments later, I fairly barreled into the midst of a duel. Two movements of my wand ended the altercation and suspended the participants in mid-air.

"Well, Mr. Potter? What __is __going on here precisely?" I had managed to keep my breathlessness from coming through in my inquiry, but not the shrill tone which would clearly let him know of my concern.

"A practical lesson." Staring between the two men my magic had halted, I raised an eyebrow in question. As he answered, I knew without a doubt that he was slipping comfortably into his role. He showed the same cheek he had as a student. "Or did you not expect me to teach them such when you asked me to come lecture on this subject?"


	7. VII: Draco

__Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Twilight. I make no profit from this work of fiction.__

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_**_**Because this affects previous notes of this chapter, I am posting this with the revision**_**___:__

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><p>She had fallen asleep on the train. That had not surprised me as much as the fact that she talked in her slumber. After she had greeted me, I was quite shaken. Understandably so, I should think, given the history between her family and mine. Though she was technically blood kin, it was difficult for me to think of her in such terms given the identity of her father.<p>

Regardless of any apprehension I might have held towards her, I certainly would not risk my own life simply to be shod of her. Still, when she had begun speaking, I could feel ice running through my veins. It was a sensation I had long thought behind me. Feeling the power emanating from her, I had cowered slightly. Shivers had run down my spine as she began relaying orders, clearly expecting my support in her endeavors. The lure of the dark magic that had once called to me with such promise permeated the room, so I had succumbed once more to its rich allure, nodding when required. It had wrapped itself around me in an embrace that was both choking and comforting. Albeit an odd combination, I had luxuriated in the sensation, losing myself in the overwhelming nature of the darker magic.

It had disappeared as quickly as it had come, and I had felt bereft without it. She had smirked at me, her eyes dancing with mirth and knowledge. I had not been able to suppress a shudder then, realizing that the force which had so enraptured me was not a generic darker essence. It had been her own magic which had coiled about me, whispering promises of dark beauty. Afterward, she had fallen silent. It had taken several moments for me to realize that she had not been voicing her dark orders, that her magic had been supplanting them directly into my mind. I had nearly wretched at the invasiveness of it, and had quickly swallowed the bile as her eyes had flared red in warning.

When she had allowed her fatigue to overtake her, I received another surprise. Her guard – I had entertained no illusions he was anything other than my executioner should I refuse this dark-lady-to-be – had taken a seat on the bench beside her. As he had guided her head to his shoulder, his hood had fallen back, revealing his face.

The horror I had experienced when she addressed me by name was nothing when compared to the terror flowing in me when looking into his icy eyes. Despite aging, Antonin Dolohov was still completely recognizable, and altogether frightening. Had I been the same lad approached to join the Dark Lord's ranks all those years ago, I might have soiled myself. Thankfully, a Malfoy has more class than to succumb to such a vulgar and visceral response to fear.

Years of honing my facial muscles to impassivity had come to the fore. I could make out the slight grin on his face as he had noticed the change in my demeanor before he turned his attention to making her more comfortable as she rested. It had not stopped him from quietly addressing me.

"__Do not allow your visage to reveal so much, boy."__

Those words had echoed through my head during the feast as well. Knowing she would be there, that he would be there, was an entirely different matter from seeing them in the room. Knowing he was the one beside her, despite his polyjuiced form, did nothing to keep from me fearing discovery. The most terrifying part of the experience had been knowing that Minerva had planned an announcement and was expecting a reaction from me. The response she desired had to be foregone – I could not bring myself to perform for two masters at once. How Severus had managed all those years of duplicity escaped me, and at once I had understood his dilemma. Even as my magic craved the dark promise, I knew what devastating horrors laid down that path.

The thoughts raced through my head as I stood under the steady stream of the shower. I felt too filthy internally to simply use magic to clean myself, and there was comfort in the steady rhythm of the water as it fell down upon me. I had not slept throughout the night, horrible visions of what might come flashing before my eyes any time that I had allowed my lids to fall closed. Alone in my chambers, I had almost succumbed to the less cultured response to terror and screamed. Biting my tongue until blood filled my mouth had stopped the urge.

Tilting my head back into the water sliding over me, I tried to let its warmth wash away my thoughts just as easily as it released the tension from my muscles. In such moments I often found myself wondering what life could have been like if I had made a few different choices. Sadly, the luxury of 'what if' was not something in which I could indulge. As the water began to cool, I realized exactly how long I had been languishing beneath the spray. I heaved a heavy sigh, waving my hand to let my magic stop the flow of water.

Stepping out of the shower, I reached for the towel I had laid out on the counter. I patted the excess moisture from my form, dropping the towel to the floor when I finished. As I turned to head to the bedroom, my eyes caught sight of my face through the steam covering the mirror. Staring into the eyes of my reflection, I thanked every deity I had ever read about for the foresight I had shown in silencing the horrid things when I had gotten off the train. The man with my face peering out at me seemed agitated. My reflection's discomfort, though, was none of my concern.

A loud chirp from my wand in the other room broke me from my daze. Walking into my bed chamber, I stepped into my open closet, a few waves of my hand bringing the finest Egyptian cotton shirt to my back. I slipped my arms through the sleeves while a spell woven into the garment caused it to button itself. Adorning trousers of fine cream-colored linen, I tapped the hunter green frock coat with my finger, activating the magic which would pull it from its hanger in order to cover me properly. I recalled with great clarity the young women in my house and how they had often spoken of the male teachers. It was only once I had stood behind the desk and seen the same lascivious looks directed at me that I had finally understood _why_ Severus had insisted on being so formally attired.

I had expected to be a pariah given my family's situation, how things had turned out in the end. Strangely, the students had not seen me in such a light. Quite the contrary – the had perceived me as their newest conquest, and for the first time in my life I had found the attention afforded to me wholly unsettling. I had nearly had to _Stupify_ one young lady when she launched herself at me on the first day of fall term. The attention from the young men was decidedly more subtle, though no less unsettling. It seemed that a reputation as a 'ladies' man' had been attached to me, though I had certainly done nothing to encourage it. Being only a scant few years older than many of my students, the attraction served to at least allow me to maintain a semblance of order in my classroom.

When the last button of the frock coat slipped through its fastening hole, I closed my eyes. Every morning I would steel myself to face my students. With the newest member of my class, I feared I might need some extra fortification. Unfortunately, I did not have the opportunity to indulge such a desire. I forced my eyes open, grabbed my teaching robes, slipped my wand into the sheath that had practically become a part of my body, and quietly left my chambers behind me.

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><p>"Mister Morris, you can not be so gormless as to be so indisputably incorrect with your answer as this work would leave one to conclude." Seeing the boy flush in embarrassment as I handed him back the paper fairly dripping with red ink only caused me to shake my head. Pity was something I no longer had the luxury of entertaining, and it was certainly a concept which had been foreign to me longer than compassion had been familiar.<p>

"Miss Ainsley." A dull thud followed by a hiss telegraphed the girl's shock far more than her stuttered answer could have done. I refrained from rolling my eyes, even though I was quite annoyed with her clumsiness. Ravenclaw house were known for their brains, not their courage. I closed my eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of my nose as I brushed aside that wisp of thought. Returning to the situation before me, I opened my eyes and lowered my hand, scowling down at the seventh year. "You will aid Mister Morris with his studies."

"I... B-but, sir, I..." I glared at her and she quickly fell silent. It took a great deal of effort to keep my voice calm and not snarl at her when I addressed her apparent reluctance.

"Is there a problem, Miss Ainsley?" The girl's skin noticeably paled as she shook her head. I glance over to Morris who appeared uncomfortable as well. Sighing, I placed my palms on my desk. "I don't care whether you're at each other's throats during Quidditch, if there's a house rivalry, or if the two of you are playing footsie under the table in the potions classroom." Girlish tittering filled the room. "My only concern is that you know precisely what it is you're doing when it comes to this art. And make no mistake, children." The class quieted as I circled to the front of my desk, leaning back against the sturdy oak. "This is an art. When you enroll in this class, it's because you choose to be here. This is not a class for those who aren't willing to work, something I thought I had made clear throughout last term."

Sounds of shuffling papers filled my quieted classroom. Each student who tried to meet my hardened gaze looked away quickly. It had not taken long for the stifled soughs to trickle into silence. When the shuffling ceased, I straightened, stepping forward as I began a walk through each aisle.

"This is a class for advanced study. It is not a class for those who do not __wish __to learn. You are all in your final year here. You were well aware when you elected to enroll in this course that I am a harsh and demanding taskmaster, having put up with my demands for two years already." Gentle chuckles sounded as I walked behind the last table to the second aisle of the classroom. "We can't move on to the fun things until we can master the boring things. So, Miss Ainsely." She looked up at me as I stood directly beside her table. "I trust there will be no further debate on aiding your classmate."

She swallowed, poking her tongue at to wet her lips before answering. "N-no, sir." I was uncertain whether she was intending to be coquettish. Regardless, I pressed my lips tightly together as I looked down at her. The girl dropped the pretense of trying to look me in the eye when she had been studying very carefully a spot just over my left shoulder.

I nodded once decisively. "Very good." Waving my hand towards the board, I had to suppress a satisfied grin at the groans filling the air as writing appeared on its charcoal surface. "Your assignments, ladies and gentlemen. I trust they shall all be completed on time and without grumbling. You have far too much work to do to indulge in such a luxury." Quills scratching on parchment were the only sounds in the room for the next several minutes before the allotted class time ended. Once they had packed their belongings and departed, I found myself staring out into the empty classroom. In the quiet moments it was easy to let my mind begin to wander and reminisce.

I remember father talking about her in hushed tones with Severus. Their voices would fall silent when they noticed my presence, even though I doubted that they had simply stopped their discussion. Rodolphus would often be in the room during these conversations, at turns melancholy and joyful. I had often wondered about his mercurial moods at the mention of her existence. Of course, the conversations took place after the Dark Lord had been reborn, and I could not be certain that the alleged heir was the source of his unhappiness. I never pressed the matter. It was somewhat disconcerting – actually meeting this girl whom I had long thought a figment of the imagination, a fairy tale born of the insanity of war.

Hearing the floo in my adjoined office activate roused me from my thoughts. I waved my wand arm towards the classroom door, closing and locking it. My uninvited guest strolled leisurely into my classroom, too impatient to wait for me to call on him in the adjoining room. Allowing years of training suppressed by these many years of disuse to come to the fore was not as easy as I had hoped it would be. I managed, however, to appear completely composed as my impromptu guest greeted me.

"Hello, Draco. It has been a long time, hasn't it?"

I stayed seated at my desk, hiding my shaking hands underneath the aged wood. I found myself grateful, for the first time in my life, for the breakdown to which I had nearly succumbed in my sixth year as a student. I might not have otherwise known how to keep my composure when I was so thoroughly terrified.

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><p>My hands still shook slightly as I walked to the headmistress' office. The door swung open, allowing me to hide my hands within the folds of my teaching robes. She was sitting primly behind her desk, sifting through a stack of parchment apparently quite content to ignore me. I took the opportunity to fortify my mind, making use of the Occlumency lessons my dear aunt had once given me. The skill had served me well over the years, though it was certainly no secret that Minerva was hardly a comparable Legilimens to those men whose probes I had been trained to withstand.<p>

Regardless, she had the ability to make me feel as though I were still a firstie when she looked at me with disdain over the brim of those spectacles. She stopped her shuffling, placing her hands on the desk as she rose. She generally did not receive me quite so formally. I had no doubt in my mind that the change was a result of my lack of reaction to her announcement. In that moment, when I looked up into her eyes, I could have sworn I was once more staring into the disappointed gaze of Albus Dumbledore.

She extended her left hand, waving it in a sweeping arc. A chair moved quietly away from the desk. I continued to stand, her unblinking eyes piercing my own. She seemed to perceive the moment as some sort of Muggle power struggle. The absurdity of thinking that I would be so uncouth as to allow myself to be subject to a Muggle affectation nearly caused me to scowl. Fighting the urge, I raised my eyebrow instead, crossing my arms over my chest as she continued to stand and stare.

"Surely, madam, you can not expect me to completely ignore propriety." A motion of my hand her chair back slightly from the desk. She allowed a small smile to light her face as she primly took her seat. Nodding, I took the opposite chair.

She straightened the stack of papers by hand. I presumed she was taking those moments to collect her thoughts. Surely she recalled summoning me to her office. "I called you up here to discuss the new student." Suddenly I found myself wishing that she had not remembered calling me to her office.

"Is there some concern?" I managed to keep my fear from my voice. I was unsure whether I was more afraid that I would reveal something which I was clearly expected, by virtue of my associations, to keep quiet about, or if I was terrified that she had learned something herself.

She pursed her lips for a moment, appearing to consider her answer. "With your reaction at the feast yesterday, I wanted to be sure that there wasn't."

I kept my face neutral. I may not have been able to completely mask my emotions as a teenager, but I had learned very quickly in the time following my initiation as a Death Eater. Though I had long since lost any desire to force my ideologies on the world, I would never be able to deny my heritage, my past, or my love of the darker magics. My ability to suppress my emotions as a child served me well in hiding these things. "I assure you, headmistress, everything is fine. I was merely taken somewhat ill." I had held her gaze as I spoke, knowing that with Gryffindors, holding a steady gaze was a sign of truthfulness. Whether she believed me fully, she would at least be forced to give some weight to my claim.

She considered me for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. Minerva had never mastered the knack of shielding her emotions. She had worn them on her face when she had contested Umbridge, she had displayed them clearly when she had battled Severus, and she had allowed the world to clearly observe her devastation at Dumbledore's funeral. Her brief nod served as an acceptance of my statement, even if she still had her reservations. "Well. Needless to say I was somewhat disturbed that she appeared to create such a response in you. Since you are her head of house, I am merely trying to make sure that there aren't any special concerns."

I allowed myself a tight-lipped smile. Doubtless, Minerva would not know that I was capable of any other type. "She and her tutor have been allotted quarters separate from the house commons. As I understand it, he is also here to serve as her … I believe the Muggle term is bodyguard?" She nodded in confirmation. "I had the impression from him that she would be taking any primary concerns to him directly." Minerva's eyebrows rose quickly at my statement.

"So you've discussed matters with him then?" I had to consider carefully how to proceed, but I needed to make my decision quickly. After all, I could not hesitate too long or her suspicions would grow. Despite my own misgivings about participating directly in any endeavors involving the Dark Lord's scion, I was certainly not insane enough to provide the Headmistress with a reason for concern. Such an act would be tantamount to suicide.

Finally deciding on the best way to deflect her without openly lying, I responded. "Yesterday evening, when I showed them to the rooms that had been prepared." My lips were still somewhat pinched. She would undoubtedly attribute my hesitation to my Slytherin nature. Even she and her blessed Gryffindors had been known for keeping their secrets.

Minerva steepled her fingers, tapping her lips with her forefingers for a brief moment. "Who ordered the rooms prepared?"

The question was wholly unexpected. I did not even try to hide my surprise at the idea that she assumed I had done such a thing. "I had thought you did." She shook her head slowly. Despite my concern over the thoughts coming to the forefront of my mind, I waved the issue off. "No matter. It will be easier for her this way until she has acclimated to life here. She is coming in during the middle of a year, into a house suspicious of outsiders, into a country wholly foreign to her." The headmistress appeared to be giving a great deal of consideration to my points.

"Very well. I won't countermand it, though I do intend to find out who ordered it." Her eyes glanced to the portraits. I suppressed the urge to scoff at her obvious command despite her attempt to be somewhat surreptitious. I intended to find out myself, but I would not be so foolhardy as to be obvious in the endeavor. "Regardless, I expect to be informed if there are any issues."

I simply nodded. She pushed her chair back, standing and looking down at me in clear dismissal. Irritating though it was, I knew that I could no longer use my Malfoy name as a sign of superiority. I stood from the chair, waiting for her to walk around the desk. She ushered me to the door, waving her hand to open the monolithic stone slab. No sooner had she opened it than Potter nearly tumbled through the portal.

I could not help the habitual sneer from curling my lip for a brief moment before he righted himself. "Something we can help you with, Potter?" He looked at me with clear disdain. I raised my eyebrow, my face otherwise appearing indifferent.

He turned from me, his chest still heaving from his apparent rush to the Headmistress' office. "Minerva, I have to ask." I managed to restrain myself and not roll my eyes at his breathless state. He glanced at me, clearly considering whether I could be trusted to hear his question. Minerva's impatience forced his hand.

"Well, what __is __it, Mister Potter?" If she had been a younger woman, I would have expected her to stamp her foot. Potter's next question effectively dispelled my amusement at the situation.

"Is there a Parselmouth currently enrolled in the school?" He was still breathing heavily. I could no longer restrain my Malfoy upbringing completely and stepped back from him. His eyes followed me even as Minerva answered him.

Her voice held some irritation at his insistence on being circumspect. "Why?"

"The Chamber is open."

He announced it as though the revelation meant the end of the world itself was nigh. I managed to keep from rolling my eyes at him, but only just. "You say that, Potter, as though it should mean something. In case you don't recall, you _killed _Slytherin's beast several years ago. Has all the student adulation of a single day completely addled your brain?"

"See here now!" Minerva finally did stamp her foot at my regression to the more familiar territory of argument with the scarred 'savior' of our world. Still refraining from rolling my eyes, I gave a half bow.

"Apologies, madam." Her lips were tightly pursed even as she nodded in acceptance. Both of us turned expectantly back to Potter. His eyes were narrowed as he stared at me, the glare likely intended to make me feel apologetic. I merely raised an eyebrow at him. He had certainly lost any semblance of sanity he had once possessed if he thought I would be offering him the same courtesy.

Deciding to ignore me, he turned to face Minerva. "The basilisk wasn't the only thing in the Chamber. I ran around down there for quite a while. There were numerous rooms, and there's no telling what Slytherin hid in them." Minerva gave no response to him. I only graced him with a bored look, letting him know he had not yet given me cause to be alarmed. He looked frustrated that neither of us seemed at all bothered by his revelation. "There's no telling what was let out when it was opened."

I had finally had enough. "I don't know what kind of lark this is for you, Potter, but you can be assured, I'm unamused." His eyes became narrow slits and I fought the urge to laugh hysterically at the assumption that anything he did intimidated me in any way. Just as I was certain he was about to stamp his foot in a childish fit of pique, the castle seemed to shake. My eyes widened, even as I quickly uncrossed my arms and drew my wand.

Potter's voice grated on my nerves, even as he drew his own wand, rushing down the steps beside me, the pair of us trailing the Headmistress. "I _told_ you so."


	8. VIII: The Bloody Baron

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Twilight. I make no profit from this work of fiction._

_**Author's notes:** There are notes concerning this chapter – and adjustments that have been made to previous chapters – on the Facebook page. If you'd like to review my work, I'd appreciate your feedback. Is there something I could do better? Something that's confusing? Someone whose reactions are contrary to expectation?_

_There is a mystery in this story, to be sure. Things may not be what they seem. But I would like to know if there is anything that can be improved, or if - by some chance - I've managed to write something appealing. I'm not looking for empty praise, but I can't get any better in my writing if I don't know what I'm doing wrong._

_Lastly, I've spent some time revising this, so I hope it reads a bit better._

__Review responses – and any announcements – will be posted here: (FB URL) /pages/RogueMudblood/684906514892205__

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><p>I had been both proud and terrified when I'd heard she was sorted into my house. Power wafted from her, an almost tangible thing. It was no surprise that it should be so, given her parentage. She was the very image of her father. Despite this, I had never expected she would be able to open the hidden Chamber.<p>

I had been keeping a close eye on her throughout the day. The moment she had stepped into the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, the students had become unnaturally quiet. Perhaps they could sense it as well. Many of them were capable of astute observation, so it certainly would not surprise me should they have been able to do so. She had walked the span of the classroom, finally perching herself at a desk in the rear of the room. Her guard had seemed perturbed by the choice. Likely his apprehension had stemmed from the fact that she was seated so far from the exit in the event of an emergency. I had doubted it would be an issue. The amount of protective magic surrounding him formed a shield that even I, ethereal as I was, had been rebounded from upon contact.

When that upstart Half-blood, Potter, had finally entered the room, the air had smelled of fear. He had only paused briefly in his stride. I would give him credit for the foresight to maintain his composure In such a situation.

It still stung that he had been originally chosen to enter Slytherin house and had shunned us. His mind had been poisoned against the emerald and argent because of the flapping gums of Gryffindors, and the Hat had chosen to place him among them. A snake in the lion's den was how I had thought of him the entire time he had been at Hogwarts as a student. My opinion of his personality remained unchanged in that regard.

"Well. I've never seen such a quiet group, especially after Yule." He looked around the room, his eyes landing briefly on the girl before moving on to another student. "I don't suppose Boxing Day made itself known in the Wizard world..."

His voice had trailed off to the chuckles that had followed. He seemed pleased he had been able to break the ice so easily, thawing their silence with explanations of the Muggle holiday. I had noticed as I studied his face that a shadow had come over it as he spoke of servants' roles being reversed with those of their masters. Not for the first time I had found myself wondering what secrets Mister Potter had long been hiding from us.

As class had gotten underway, he had been quick to note that some of his students had apparently allowed their skills to wane during the holidays. "Come on, Merriweather! Your _Patronus_ was much stronger than this before Yule." He had turned from the boy in frustration. "Lockley, what is _that_?" His startled address to the girl who had produced a seemingly tentacled mist-beast with her attempt to cast the spell had been sharply delivered. The powdery white form had dissipated instantly with the girl collapsing to her knees. She had buried her head in her hands, her weeping quite audible. Whether it was his frustration or his proximity to the dark magics flowing from his newest student that made him so volatile I could not have said. He had huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Everyone back to your seats." There had been some hesitation as the various attempts at casting the charm dissipated. "_Now_."

There had been a great deal of scraping chairs, the sound grating on my ears. Despite being in between the living world and the dead, certain things were still highly irritating. He had walked back to his desk, standing in front of it and leaning back slightly. His posture would have looked somewhat relaxed as he lowered his hand were it not for the obvious tightness in his neck and shoulders. I had been acutely aware that many of the female students were wholly unconcerned with any part of his anatomy above his chest. Their whispers were not nearly as quiet as they had assumed.

He had rolled his eyes, firing off various hexes in rapid succession. Several students had been incapacitated within moments, either completely silenced or unable to speak due to laughter. One of the students had finally caught on to the change in the lesson and had attempted to disarm Potter. I had laughed as he deflected the spell and countered with _Stupefy_. The boy who had tried his hand at taking down a living legend had fallen with a thud to the floor.

One of the girls had quickly stood on the other side of the room, casting _Expelliarmus_. He had deflected it just as easily, casting the same spell in return. She had obviously not expected such a counter-attack, her jaw falling as her wand flew from her hand. He had followed it up with a bit of silent casting which had vines growing from the floor into a thick mass, using the girl as a trellis and rooting her to the spot.

As I had watched the display in fascination, several of the students had finally decided to combine their efforts in attacking Mister Potter. Though none had been so foolish as to attempt the _Fiendfyre_ spell, one did attempt to _Incendio_ Potter's robes. He had quickly doused the spark with _Aqua Eructo_. Expecting that response, one of the more enterprising students had cast _Glacius_.

Their attempt to freeze their professor in his tracks failed. The sinister smile that had graced his features had finally drawn a reaction from the dark child who had been sitting quietly in the back of the room. She had stood then, but was prevented from stepping forward by her guard's hand on her shoulder. Still, her movement had caught my attention, and I had watched as a smile to match Potter's formed on her own face. I had felt a small measure of dread come over me as I regarded her. Glancing back at the professor, I could see the spark of darkness simmering underneath the surface in him.

His smile had broadened as the students began to back away. One had stepped away from the group, and the _Verdimillious Tria _Potter had unleashed had shocked the boy into unconsciousness. I had found a smirk growing on my own face. One by one, the professor had picked them off as though they were simply toys – or vermin. The group that had banded together were mostly Mudbloods, so it had been fitting that he would eliminate them so easily. The darkness surrounding him had grown to the point of an external manifestation. A thin shadowy cloud seemed to follow him as he glided towards his prey.

Finally he had only one opponent remaining. Two of the students had been bound together in a petrified state, their eyes terrified as he advanced towards their classmate. The boy had looked as though he were ready to soil himself, but he had held his ground. Casting _Wingardium Leviosa_, the boy had hurled numerous inanimate objects at the advancing professor. Potter had merely smiled, carelessly deflecting each obstacle. He had appeared every inch a dark lord in those moments, the very image of the man his parents had fought desperately to defeat. It had occurred to me then, and not for the first time, that it was perhaps Riddle's greatest feat – warping the mind of the supposed champion of light to meet his own means.

As his hand found the solid wall resting behind him, the student had panicked. In his desperation, his voice had rung out loudly with his cast of _Lumos Duo_. The room had exploded in light, though I had found it highly amusing that Potter's black robes appeared to have a light within them level with his lower abdomen. Even a ghost as miserable as I was could not help but find humor in such a display. The professor's response was somewhat unexpected. _Carpe Retractum_ rang out loudly in the room, propelling the student towards him.

It was at that moment that the Scottish harridan had burst into the room. She had levitated them before freezing them in pace and beginning her interrogation. Potter had merely given her a boyish grin when responding, which had seemed to quickly dispel her ire. Watching the incident had been entertaining, and I could not deny that the revelations had been well worth the time spent.

As I left the room, I noted that the girl had still been smiling darkly, standing with her guard firmly affixed beside her. Before I could take my leave completely, she caught my gaze, nodding her head in deference. The look in her eyes had made me want to shiver. In hindsight, that particular glance should have given me enough cause to be concerned about her motives. Sadly, it had not, and as a result, I felt just as complicit in the re-opening of the Chamber as her guard had been.

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><p>I fairly well ignored the scarred savior for the remainder of the day, not having any further reason to watch him. Instead, I found my attentions gravitating to the woman that had enrolled in such an unprecedented manner. Word of the Hat's song had reached me during the day, and I could not help the devious grin that touched my lips or the pride I felt at knowing that Slytherin had another chance for greatness. I had long paid penance for my misdeeds, and hoped that before I permanently fell away from the earth, I would see glory come to the name of my old house once more.<p>

Following her had certainly seemed dull and tedious for a time, but when she had waltzed into that particular restroom and caressed the sink with a knowing and intimate touch, I no longer had any doubt as to her abilities. Peeves came barreling into the room, intent on wreaking havoc. The moment his eyes landed on her, he became silent. He had dropped down to float beside me, all mischief momentarily halted. Without addressing either of us, she turned back to the sink, gently running her fingers along the underside of the spout as she began a snakelike hiss. I felt a shudder go up my spine as the Chamber opened. Peeves merely cackled gleefully, chanting about 'telling' as he quickly left the room.

I stood, watching in silent vigil as she descended. Her guard went along with her, the magic filling the room with a physical presence. Her voice, echoing through the tunnel, reached my ears with a perfect clarity. The floor vibrated as the tunnel beneath it was reconstructed. I could not be sure whether it was her own magic which restored the entrance to the Chamber or that of her guard. It mattered not in the end. The entire school shook, shuddering on its foundation as the Chamber was opened once more. Even as a spirit, the sensation filled my belly with a frightening tension. It made me both jittery with nervous energy and overwhelmed with the exhilarating knowledge that power had once more returned to the Slytherins.

Not even the frantic flight of Potter as he made his way to the Chamber's entrance could dispel such a sensation. Though the Scotswoman glared at me as she passed, she only spared me the brief glance before quickly following the younger wizard. Malfoy stopped at the top of the tunnel, certainly not keen to enter the sanctuary of the man whose name he had disgraced with his cowardice. It was not his reluctance to serve a dark wizard whose sanity was clearly questionable that I abhorred, but his refusal to stand by his own convictions. A Slytherin would protect his secrets with deadly force. I could certainly attest to that.

But that did not mean that a Slytherin had any excuse for cowardice.

Even so, as he stood beside me in silence, I did not shun him. He readied his wand when he heard noises echoing through the tunnel. The sounds of snakes, issuing warnings, preparing for attacks, made their way back to us. As a pair, we waited, neither of us curious enough to witness a battle in the depths of the recent home of a basilisk. While I knew the carcass of the slain beast had long been removed from the underground caverns for use in potions by Severus Snape, I certainly was not willing to provide any comfort to the younger Malfoy by telling him so.

The sun had long set by the time the four emerged. Potter emerged first, offering his hand to Minerva and then the girl. He stared askance at the newest Hogwarts student as she stepped from the tunnel. Still, the darkness that tickled his senses was nearly a physical presence in the room – he was obviously curious as to her motives. The fact that she radiated power on the cusp of being realized certainly did not diminish the curiosity which could easily consume him.

Malfoy sheathed his wand, a raised eyebrow the only sign of reaction he revealed. In those moments, he was a credit to our house, keeping his own council. I daresay it must have been odd for Potter, feeling so much dark energy and having to remove himself from its presence willingly. He managed, however reluctantly. I watched them leave, Minerva leading the group away as though they were all recalcitrant children when only one of them truly fell under her umbrella in such a distinction.

After they had finally cleared the room, I turned back to the reconstructed entrance. With the faucet once again in place, I simply floated down through the floor, bypassing the tunnel entirely. Occasionally my descent would take me on an intersecting path with the reconstructed convenience allowing mortals to access Salazar's stronghold. I could not help but be impressed by the result of the magic I had felt earlier. Even that paled in comparison to the sight awaiting me as I finally reached the Chamber.

Despite knowing for a long while that there were many secrets hidden in the Chamber, I would never have been prepared to find the dome composed of pure magical energy covering the floor where the basilisk's body had once lay. The red shimmering energy appeared grossly out of place in such a Slytherin sanctuary. The bright color would have been garish on its own. Its distractingly lurid shade was a beacon to any Slytherin. Gryffindors were far too predictable in their attempts to disguise what they obviously did not want anyone to see.

Despite the disgust I felt at sliding my head into a curtain of red, I suppressed the revulsion and peered inside. It was almost a violation, that the Gryffindors – especially that Half-blood Scot – had seen fit to construct such a monstrosity within the Chamber. Looking down, though, I could clearly understand why it had been done.

Whether the girl or her guard – or some other unknown – had been responsible, it was evident that a hatchery had been set up. Seven nests had been meticulously placed in a circle, each holding a toad. As I stared at the creatures, I determined that the amphibians were not all of the same type. Inwardly I scoffed as I slid lower into the floor so that I could push my face into the nests to see beneath the slimy creatures. To be reduced to such an act was beyond demeaning, and I was exceedingly glad that no one was near to witness it. Still, as I had suspected, beneath each toad lay a chicken's egg.

I wasted no more time looking around the Chamber. To be sure there would be other wonders waiting. Salazar had known an untold number of dark curses, and I never doubted that some of his knowledge had been entombed in this place. Regardless, I quickly returned to the main floor of Hogwarts, unsurprised when I startled several students by simply appearing from beneath their feet. Their comfort was not my chief concern. Yet even I would not wish harm upon any generation as that which would unfold if seven basilisks were to be loosed upon the school's inhabitants.

Ignoring the children, I continued floating upwards until I reached the Headmistress' office. I shuddered at having to call it anything other than 'Headmaster's office' – even Rowena and Helga had not dared to try to assume the authority of men. Witches could be powerful in their own right, but that did not require them to try to usurp the positions of wizards. Regardless, I kept myself hidden within the stone walls, only poking my head forward enough to be able to clearly view the scene unfolding before me.

"Did you just think it would be a great idea, Miss Swan?" The Scot was living up to her status as harridan. Her shrill tone echoed throughout the room, causing several portraits to cringe. "While I understand _why_ you felt it was necessary to hide the fact you can speak to snakes, that certainly doesn't give you leave to traipse about this castle _hatching_ them!"

Her ranting seemed to make the elder witch unobservant. Malfoy took a discrete step backward as the dark energy began to flow about the girl. The new witch's eyes flashed red, and I could have sworn that I heard a thunderstorm preparing to descend upon Hogwarts. Even her guard chose to give her room, removing himself slightly from what was certain to be the center of a magical battleground. Potter's nostrils flared and he turned to the girl. His eyes widened a bit as he realized that the charged atmosphere was not simply because of the volatile personality of the Headmistress.

"Minerva, I think that's enough." I had never been known for my compassion. There are those who might subscribe to me some amount of sentimentality because of my refusal to leave my Grey Lady. Remorse was not a weakness, even if there were those who would see it so. Regardless, it was no small amount of grief I felt as Albus' voice rang out in the office. Knowing it was a portrait, that he had not wanted to cling to this shell of life as so few of us had chosen to do, did not diminish the depth of my emotion. "Whether you believe her or not, as you've expressed already, you have no evidence to refute her claim." The Scot seemed infuriated that he would take the girl's side. He simply nodded once at the girl, causing the harridan to turn and take in the gathering dark magic.

The frown that marred her features could not be easily interpreted. I was unsure whether she was still expressing her disdain with Albus or if she was beginning to understand what magic was blooming directly in front of her. Glancing down to the floor, she removed her spectacles. She pinched the bridge of her nose briefly before looking back up and placing the glasses back on her face.

"Quite right. You were out of bounds. You've no defense for that since we caught you there." She held up her hand as if to fend off any arguments, but I had not noticed the girl preparing to give any. "Even if your guard was with you, the Chamber is no place for exploration." The girl hid a smirk. Clearly she felt as I did – Salazar's secrets were hidden within those walls, and that alone was reason enough to explore the underground domain. Albeit, with a much less brazen attitude than she had shown by simply barreling down there and shaking the school's very foundation. "However, since you are new here, I will be lenient. No doubt your American upbringing, especially on the western coast as you were, has given rise to some odd ideas about what type of initiative is to be considered acceptable."

The girl was glaring at her. She managed to hold her tongue, but looking at her in that moment there could be absolutely no doubt as to her lineage, at least paternally. She was every inch Tom Riddle, staring down someone who would do their utmost to stifle the magical power coming into being. Not because it was 'wrong' or because it was 'destructive' or 'hated', but because that power was _different_. Minerva was nowhere near Albus' age when he had taken Tom on for the first time. If there were to be an epic battle between the pair, historians would be more likely to compare it to Grindelwald's clashes with the former headmaster. I could not help but hope that this girl would be wiser than her predecessors in the field. She did have an advantage over them, after all – she was a witch. As long as I had known them, witches had been deceitful creatures, prone to secrecy and duplicitous acts in order to obtain their ends.

The harridan had looked up from the subject of her ire to the man who was allegedly responsible for her. "You, however, have _no_ excuse. This is the only warning I will give you, sir. Either you curb your charge's activities to those considered acceptable, or I will have you expelled from this castle _permanently_." He merely nodded and bowed. When the Scotswoman nodded in return, the pair took the action as a dismissal, turning to leave without a single word.

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><p>The rest of the evening had passed largely without event. Students had long since bored me, so I stayed clear of them when I was able. Finding myself on the balcony of the Astronomy tower, I mulled over the events of the day. I replayed the scene from the Chamber in my mind, what I had seen with my own eyes. I had thought I was alone until the dainty hand landed on my shoulder.<p>

I turned to find my beloved standing there. Her silence filled me with sorrow, though I would forever understand it. After all, were it not for my own impetuous actions, we might have lived a fulfilling life. There were, of course, other ways I could have convinced her to be mine. I was blinded by my rage at being denied, however. Many young people often did foolhardy things when rebuffed. I had been no different in my day.

The pair of us stood in silence, staring out over the grounds, for quite some time. Not until the moon had risen to the pinnacle of the sky did someone came to disturb our peace.

We turned as one to find the girl kneeling on the stone balcony. Her guard kept to the shadows, but even he could not hide from ghosts. I smirked when he jumped as I rattled a chain briefly. It was not his scowl but that of his charge which gained my attention, however. Once I nodded at her, she ceased glaring at me, focusing instead on transfiguring the stones into a soft cushion. She managed it rather quickly, a surprising feat since she left them within the bounds of the castle itself. As my lady and I looked on, the girl pulled out a tattered scroll from her sleeve. She had apparently been hiding it since going down into the Chamber.

She created a bluebell flame, allowing it to float steadily in front of her as she unrolled the ancient text. It rustled and cracked as she slowly pulled it open. With each new sound she would cast another protective charm, another restorative charm. I knew nothing of these American schools, but if they were able to teach one so young so much, it might not be a terrible idea for Hogwarts to send an ambassador to the Americas as part of an exchange. A professor would be preferable. I made a note to mention it to one of the portraits who had the Headmistress' ear.

When she had finally finished unrolling the tattered and worn scroll, her eyes dashed from side to side as she quickly read the material. Her smile widened until, finally, she was cackling with glee. When I peered over her shoulder to read what had amused her so, I thought it might be possible she was already mad. She had managed to find the one scroll in all of Salazar's collection that he likely would not have wanted the current generation of wizards to ever find.

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><p><em>I'd love to hear any constructive thoughts you'd care to share with me. Feel free to leave a review.<em>


	9. IX: Edward

__Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Twilight. I make no profit from this work of fiction. __

__**Author's Note**____: A brief reminder – as stated in the first chapter, this is AU.__

__Review responses – and any announcements – will be posted here: (FB URL) /pages/RogueMudblood/684906514892205__

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><p>Alice had been steadily trying to avoid Jasper's advances. For some reason he had decided to play octopus, prompting her to move about in an attempt to keep his hands from grasping her. Esme and Carlisle had found great amusement in their antics, but it had only served to remind me what a fool I had been.<p>

Bella had only wanted immortality by my side. And when she had aged, when she had finally become what the Americans considered 'legal', she had become more insistent. So I made the decision to leave her behind. My decision. Not any of the others, and Emmett had called me an idiot. Even Rosalie had disapproved of my actions, though she supported my choice. I think for her it was more in how I had chosen to simply abandon Bella in the way that I had.

Watching Jasper and Alice, though, had managed to bring the horrible reality of being alone for eternity to the fore of my mind. Engrossed in my own thoughts, I had not expected whatever had hit me on the top of my head. Irritated, I had looked up to find Jasper staring down at me, his hands on his hips in a pose of classic mortal defiance.

"See here, Edward. Just because I want some nookie with my woman doesn't mean that you have to go brooding and ruin my mood." The words he had chosen were playful, but the tone he had delivered them in was anything but. I had stared up at Jasper, my mouth falling open slightly as I scanned his thoughts. The phrases that repeated had only served to make me feel even worse about what I had done. Jasper, however, had been all out of sympathy. "You're a coward, Masen. You wanted the girl, she wanted you, and you didn't want to take the chance she would change her mind in two hundred years. Rather than be a man about it and aspire to doing whatever you'd have to so she'd stay with you if she ever did want to leave, **you** decided to tuck tail and run. You're not a common mongrel, so I haven't the foggiest why you've chosen to act like one."

Whether it was his own anger being pushed onto me, amplifying my own, or if the ensuing rage at his words stemmed solely from me, I hadn't known. At that point, I hadn't cared. The lack of concern had led me to be careless with Esme's fine things.

I had lifted myself from the sofa in a flash of movement that – given his widened eyes as I had plowed into him – even Jasper hadn't expected. My shoulder had connected with his chest, propelling him backwards. Momentum had carried me with him, and we had crashed into the flat-screen television. I had heard the crack of the plastic as the screen had shattered, and the crunch of the plaster as the wall mount had been shoved into the drywall. But hearing those sounds hadn't meant they registered as having any meaning with me.

Once I had righted myself, I had reached up and buried my fists in the front of Jasper's shirt, my fingers grasping the material tightly. Without much thought, I had pulled him away from the wall before slamming him into it again. In the brief moment the wall had been revealed, I had clearly seen the tiny cracks radiating out from the mount. Even seeing the destruction wrought by my rage had not been enough to calm me.

Jasper's fist in my face, however, had been. Though, to my chagrin, it had taken several hard jabs and at least two fractured bones before I had finally come to my senses. As I had let go of Jasper's shirt, he had nodded that he realized I was myself once more. It still hadn't stopped him from punching me across the jaw with enough force to knock two of my teeth loose. I had fallen backwards – right onto Esme's glass table. It had shattered under the force, the shards puncturing my skin in several places. Even though I knew I had brought the action upon myself, it had not stopped me from being incredibly angry with the other vampire. I had risen from the remaining frame of the demolished table intent on pummeling Jasper some more before I had noticed where his attention lay.

While I had been intent on making someone hurt the way I was hurting, I had not noticed that Alice had fallen to her knees. The broken wood paneling beneath her had clearly indicated the force she had fallen with, and I had understood then why Jasper had been so willing to dole out some punishment of his own. Her head had been thrown back, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her hands had been pressed tightly against her temple as she had bowed her spine. Jasper had called her name loudly as he had fallen down beside her, taking her in his arms. He had snarled at me, a violent sound that had startled me greatly. Esme had pulled me back while Carlisle had rushed to Alice's side. After several tense moments, Alice's head had lolled forward on her neck, gasping for air despite the fact that we didn't need it.

"Ed-edward..." Her voice had barely been audible as she called out. No words could have possibly explained the anger coursing the room courtesy of Jasper's empathic abilities. I had shaken my head in a feeble attempt to dispel the overwhelming sensation. I had not been brave enough to approach her with her mate kneeling directly beside her. "Bella … gone..."

After several attempts, the only thing we had been able to glean from Alice had been that, somehow, Bella had vanished from the face of the earth. If I had possessed a beating heart, it would have stopped. The only thing that had kept me from falling to my own knees was Esme's arms banded about my chest.

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><p>Alice wasn't very forthcoming with information, even when Jasper finally calmed her down. The only thing she had been able to tell me was that Bella had completely disappeared from any path she was able to see. The answer frustrated me. I might have been foolish enough to leave Bella, but the last thing I wanted was for her to die. I'd left her so that she could do the very opposite. It hadn't taken much to make sure I was on the next plane to Forks.<p>

My seat jolted violently as the aircraft's wheels hit the tarmac. I'd made the trip on my own, though it had been difficult convincing Esme not to come along. Without any clue as to where I might need to head, the last thing I wanted was for my mother – for all intents and purposes – to see me doing things that I knew full well she would disapprove of. I was barely able to wait until the plane taxied the runway and connected with the terminal to disembark. The moment I was able to leave the crowd, I sped up as much as I was able without drawing attention to myself. The last thing I needed was to have the Volturi sending their people after me when I was worried about Bella.

Dodging people as I weaved in and out of the crowd, I finally reached the door. I hadn't bothered bringing any luggage which earned me some odd looks from the other people leaving the terminal. I couldn't say I cared much about their opinions. I nearly ran over a mother with two small children as I headed to the parking lot at what she would likely consider a 'break-neck' speed. I apologized, quickly dashing to the side to avoid them. My Volvo still sat in long-term parking. Turning the key, I listened to the engine choke from disuse for a moment before it revved to life. I sped out of the parking lot in the direction of La Push.

The treaty didn't matter to me. I was wholly unconcerned with the politics of our clan and those mongrel curs. The only thing I cared about was finding out what had happened to her. I paid no attention to any speed limits posted, quickly gaining the attention of the police force. I welcomed it, increasing my speed as I led them along to my destination. Though the officer behind me wasn't Charlie Swan, it wouldn't be long before he was called to the location. And I had no doubt, with the way I had left things, that he would be more than happy to show up for the pleasure of arresting me.

I'd give him the fight of his life if I needed to, but I wanted answers. He was likely to have them. Heading to the Quileute Reservation would give me the opportunity to read Jacob before letting Charlie arrest me. I wouldn't care about spending a couple of hours in the jail if it would get me the information I was looking for. Leaving the building when I had the information I wanted would be no problem as long as I made certain to incapacitate the guard first.

When the second set of blue lights came into view in my mirror I couldn't help the mischievous grin that crept onto my face. It occurred to me that I could crash the car into a tree – as long as I jumped clear without incident – and let them think I'd died in the flames. It wouldn't get me the answers I needed though. That would only happen when Charlie Swan or Jacob Black saw my face. They would both have primal reactions related to Bella. And if either of them knew anything it would be on the surface for me to pluck out of the mire.

A third set of blue lights entered my vision as another cruiser came rushing onto the road from around the curve. Its tires squealed loudly as it swerved, the driver obviously having miscalculated the distance he had to travel to the chase. He'd probably thought the readings on the speed my Volvo was going weren't accurate. If there was one thing I could count on Rosalie for it was 'souping-up' a car. I didn't argue when she said she could make any vehicle into a car fit for the Autobahn. As I passed the third cruiser, I could almost picture her in the seat beside me, smirking as she told me to go ahead and 'gun it'. My foot pressed harder on the accelerator as I raced onward, not giving any thought to the dangerous curves and outcroppings. Or any oncoming traffic.

Arriving at La Push in what seemed like hours to me, but was certainly only mere mortal minutes, I brought the car to a screeching halt. I didn't bother turning it off. Let the officers find it with the engine running. It wouldn't matter. I ran onto the Quileute grounds, obliterating the treaty that had existed with Carlisle's coven for so long. I had nearly reached the main encampment when I heard the police cars finally roll up to the spot on the road where I had stopped. I slowed to a human pace – albeit well above average human.

The next moment I found myself laying on my back, the damp earth quickly soaking the cotton of my shirt. I blinked but was unable to move my head. The fur I could feel tickling the bottom of my chin combined with the teeth I could feel digging into the skin at my throat explained why. I tried to tilt my head slightly so that I could see which of the mongrels was slicing my skin to shreds. A growl answered my efforts.

"You know, someone is going to have to buy me a shirt when this is over." My voice was hardly more than a whisper on the air, but the wolf heard me perfectly. The absurdity of the sentence startled him just enough that he released me. Glancing toward the road as I scooted back from the mongrel, I noticed the sheriff's men were getting closer. Turning back, I blinked rapidly, surprised to see that the wolf had already shifted to human.

"I can hear them, too, parasite." I snarled at the epithet. Launching myself forward, I watched his eyes widen comically in the moment before I landed on him. A shot rang out in the air and I rolled quickly. Unfortunately, the wolf-boy was just as quick, rapidly turning me back into the path of the projectile. The high-pitched whistle as the bullet approached had the man beneath me whimpering through gritted teeth. He was holding me too tightly for me to pull back and let it pass between us without revealing what I was and calling down hell from Italy on this sleepy little town. The arm banded about my neck tightened as I tried. He growled, the sound far more guttural than a human vocal range allowed. "You're not getting my sister killed. I don't give a damn about you or however much blood you'll lose, Cullen." The bullet struck me in the ribs. I could feel the bones shattering into miniscule pieces within my chest as the bullet burrowed deeper into me. The wolf rolled me off of him, rising and staring down at me. I faked a heaving chest, blood flowing freely from the entry wound as I did. The moue of distaste on his face didn't fade, not even when the officers checked him over thoroughly before turning to me.

I let my head roll to the other side, staring into the compound. Kneeling on the ground holding her swollen belly was Leah Clearwater. The unborn infant inside her would have been directly in the path of the bullet. I couldn't help the confusion that came over me. I felt my brow furrow as I sniffed the air more deeply. I was certain I smelled wolf on her. Three wolves, actually. The mongrel that had pinned me had to be one – he had called her sister. Jacob's scent was not on her. I mulled over who the father of her child could be, since he was obviously a wolf as well.

These thoughts were spinning in my mind as I was pulled up from the ground. The wound had stopped bleeding. Though the bullet remained inside and my rib were slowly mending themselves back together, the officers assumed the shot had missed. When they had me on my knees, they handcuffed me. Still scenting the air, I finally realized why I was smelling the third wolf on her when I shouldn't have been able to. She was giving birth.

"I promise to be a good boy and sit right here if one of you will call her an ambulance." I nodded my head towards the still-kneeling woman. The wolf who pinned me turned sharply, rushing to his sister's side more quickly than he should have in front of the mortals. Intent on the scene unfolding before me, I failed to register the importance of the scent behind me until its owner spoke.

"No, he won't move." I swiveled quickly at hearing his voice. His eyes were narrowed into dark slits as he glared down at me. His hands were clenched into fists at his side. The scent of hate wafted from him so strongly I was certain that even the mortals could smell it. I continued to kneel on the ground, not trying to move as the officers rushed to help the young woman. I didn't break eye contact with the wolf standing before me, using his anger to glean the information I desired. His thoughts were a whirlwind of hate. As expected, most of it was directed towards me. But even so, the one thing I wanted to find – Bella's location – wasn't there. The only thing he did know was that Charlie refused to tell him anything other than that she'd left. I'd have no choice but to let the officers haul me in, but that didn't mean I couldn't enjoy the moment.

Even with his superior position over me, I grinned at him. It was a smirk really. Jacob Black growled, loud and low, before launching himself at me. I laughed as his fists connected, even when one of the punches broke anew the rib that had just managed to patch itself back together. He was just as sick with want of her as I was. And for Jacob, sharing anything – even an emotion – with me was worse than death.

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><p>When I'd finally arrived at the station, I wasn't the only one in handcuffs. Jacob had argued that he shouldn't be bound be their law since he lived on the Reservation. At one point he'd even tried to say that their court should be allowed to execute me for trespass. Of course, that had prompted one of the officers to remind him in a rather exaggerated way of his 'right to remain silent'. I'd snorted, which hadn't done me any favors.<p>

They had us both booked and in separate cells before Charlie came in. He saw Jacob first and didn't seem surprised. From the thoughts rushing through his mind, the wold had been in quite a bit of trouble since Bella had... My mind blanked at the words 'gone home'. Was it possible that Bella had returned to Phoenix to get away from the memory of me? She had been devastated when I left – any fool would have been able to see that. I stared at the back of Charlie's head, trying to burrow deeper and find out where 'home' was for Bella. I didn't want to try to scent her out in Phoenix. That city was quite a bit larger than Forks, and it could take quite a long time. I didn't want to waste my time looking in the wrong place.

Charlie rubbed the back of his head, turning from Jacob. My eyes had been narrowed in concentration as I sifted through the thoughts in his head. When his eyes met mine, though, one thought overwhelmed all the others, and the ferocity of it had me reeling back from the cell door. Outwardly, Charlie appeared to be calm. He didn't seem to be overly concerned by my presence, a fact which bothered Jacob to some extent. But Charlie's thoughts told an entirely different story.

If he had been capable of it, he would have killed me on that spot. If he had known what I was, he likely would have had a great deal of fun torturing me. He might have removed a few limps before reattaching them with venom. He might have made me look like a quilt of scarred tissue. But since he had no way of knowing, Charlie simply stared at me, thinking only that he dearly wanted to see me dead. I must have let my amusement at the thought show on my face, because his collected demeanor collapsed in an instant. He rushed up to the bars, anger and grief warring on his features.

"It's your fault!" I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at the brilliance in that statement. "She's gone – and he's trying his damnedest to get back out into this world." The last was whispered very softly. Not for the first time I wondered if Charlie did know exactly what I was. He'd bitten his tongue on comments before, looked away from me and focused on mundane things when he'd been thinking about something which might have given me some insight into Bella. His hands wrapped around the bars as he leaned toward me, and I spent a brief moment wondering which of us was the prisoner. "When it happens, you'll know. And then, you'll really be sorry."

He shoved away from the bars, turning to his deputies. "I don't see any injuries on Cullen. Are you sure you saw Jacob hitting him?" Both of them nodded, though neither had been quick to do it. The bruises which had been on my face had slowly faded away. My skin was in pristine condition, and with not a mark on me there was no evidence for anyone to pursue a case against the mongrel wolf. Charlie turned back to me, a malicious gleam in his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. "You don't want to press charges against Mister Black. Do you." It wasn't a question. I shook my head. A moment later, Charlie unlocked Jacob's cell. The wolf snarled at me before leaving, one of the officers going with him to drive him back to La Push.

Charlie stared at me, not blinking. He dismissed the other deputy, locking the door behind the man. I'd never been afraid of a mortal, but with the look in Charlie Swan's eyes, I knew I had reason to be fearful.

"You don't know who she is, vampire." My eyes narrowed at having that suspicion confirmed. "Oh, yes, I know what you are. I didn't just warn her away from you because of the bond you think Billy Black and I had." I couldn't help the surprise showing on my face at the tense he used. "But that's not important right now. What is important is you leaving Forks and never coming back. And don't go looking for Bella. Whatever you might think you know, you don't. You'd do well to remember that." He turned from me, one hand on the door handle before he spoke again. "I'll talk to the Quileute. See if I can't convince them that pressing charges wouldn't be in their best interests. If I have to, I'll call in a favor from an old acquaintance to make it sink in." His head turned back to me, the glare on his face promising me death at some point in the near future. "Forget about Bella. Forget you ever knew her."

He left, closing the door behind him. I sank down to the floor, mulling over the information he'd given me – whether he'd meant to or not. He'd had a clear image in his mind when he'd said I didn't know who Bella was. He was wrong about that. I might not know all the details of her past. I hadn't even known she'd been keeping secrets from me. It didn't help that I'd never been able to read her mind. Of course, if I had been able to, then I wouldn't have been fascinated by her, and I wouldn't be sitting in a jail cell. I shook my head to get rid of the unproductive thoughts. I had no time for 'could've-would've-should've' – I needed to find Bella, to make sure she was safe.

Charlie seemed convinced she was alive, but that didn't necessarily translate to safe. So I focused my mind on that image, rifling through my memories, trying to determine if I'd seen it before. It was possible he had been trying to distract me with the image, but it didn't seem likely. The sprawling green estate with its professionally trimmed trees and the old stonework of the building had been quickly replaced in his mind by an island. The high rocks of the outcroppings appeared to dip down below the level of the sea, returning in jagged spikes further out, so that if someone had jumped from the higher plateau they would have impaled themselves before being able to reach the water. The sky in the image he'd shown me was grey, seemingly devoid of any life. I'd never known a place to send chills through me – especially not one I'd only seen in someone else's mind – but that one had.

It was well into the night before I finally recognized the green countryside of the first image. I should have focused more on the unpaved driveway than on the structures Charlie had unwittingly shown me. I certainly wouldn't be able to find the right building immediately, but at least I knew where to look. I shouldn't have left Europe to look for her.

The snoring of the guard on the other side of the door outside the cell reached my ears. It took very little effort for me to break the lock on the cell and step out. I used even less effort in leaping up to the window, punching through the glass and jumping the two stories to the ground on the other side. I didn't bother trying to get the Volvo out of the impound lot. I could run faster than the car anyway. I headed through the woods towards Seattle. Whether she was still in England I wouldn't know until I got there. But at least I would have a network I could tap in to for information. And maybe one of them would know exactly where each of those buildings was.

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><p><em><em>If you've made it this far, I'd love to hear your thoughts.<em>_


	10. X: Gilderoy

__Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Twilight. I make no profit from this work of fiction.__

__**Author's note**____: Thank you all for taking the time to peruse this tale. I do appreciate that you've taken time out of your day to read this. Also, if you happened to have read "Appearances Are Everything", this is a ___wholly___ different version of Lockhart.__

__Review responses – and any announcements – will be posted here: (FB URL) /pages/RogueMudblood/684906514892205__

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><p>The Wizengamot had never wondered what could possibly happen when someone who had no mind was subjected to a Dementor's kiss.<p>

They sentenced me after so long in Saint Mungo's without any improvement. My nurse tried to fight it, but her appeals were denied. Wizard law wasn't anything like Muggle law on those matters. There were no long waiting periods for appeals, no process that would have saved me from seeing the Dementor on that fateful day.

I hadn't remembered anything then. No, it hadn't come back yet. I'd read the letters of some woman named Gladys, and she'd talk about these things I had done... Or maybe it was that I hadn't? I began pacing my cell as I pondered the point before shrugging it off as unimportant. What mattered was what I was hearing them all say.

Oh, yes, I can hear things now, things I never heard before. I can remember quite a bit as well. Harry Potter, for one. Yes, I remember him. Him and his little red-haired friend. I could never suppress a snarl when thinking about that boy. He _knew_ that wand was defective and let me grab it _anyway_! But the court didn't sentence him for anything.

No, they only sentenced me. _Me_. Gilderoy Lockhart. They put me in this dank, cold prison with the intent of killing me. I was already 'defective'. I had no memory, no means to defend myself against their attacks. I had magic, though. Oh, yes, I had magic. I could feel it rippling underneath my skin, begging to be loosed on the creature when they'd let it in the room.

I'm not sure if that's what made it happen in the end. It's possible that the power had been bottled up inside me for so long that it just reached out and grabbed that fiend. I don't suppose I'll ever really know, but it's not really important anyway. He was now a part of me – the fiend and all of the souls he'd ever swallowed. The small pieces he'd taken over the years from people's souls were there as well. Some of the happy memories that he'd taken from the inmates. But this one, this fiend in particular, he'd connected with three very specific – and interesting – souls.

Oh, sure, it was only a small remnant, and it wasn't enough to know anything important about anyone he'd taken part of. But it was enough to give me more information than what I should have had. Certain things that had happened had been hidden from almost everyone. This particular Dementor, though, he had known. He had been aware of the details.

When he'd become a part of me, I became aware. But no one believed me. They'd started asking me if I remembered anything about my past since I claimed to know things, and I couldn't tell them no. I _did_ remember. They kept a wand away from me – for obvious reasons. And I didn't blame them. When I'd given them a malevolent smile as I'd regaled them with the tales of others' deeds and how I'd built my reputation, they'd tried to bring in another Dementor. One look at me and the fiend refused the task, floating away at a quicker pace than he'd arrived.

They brought in Healers, and not a one of them could give an explanation. That hadn't surprised me at all. The only thing they _could_ tell the Wizengamot when I was brought before them again was that, somehow, the Dementor I'd managed to absorb had given me access to my own memories. He'd reversed the spell, magic that the Healers couldn't undo. The Chief Warlock had been incredibly upset by the revelation that I hadn't – in fact – been punished. He'd nearly lost the slim hold he'd had on his temper at seeing me sit in his court, smugly self-assured. They'd tried to kill me – twice – and it hadn't worked. The only thing they could have done to me at that point was to use _Avada Kedavra_. Their moral superiority prevented that.

So instead they brought in Dark Arts experts. I'd smirked at the guard when he'd told me I would be isolated. "Oh, no. I'm not alone. I don't think I'll ever be alone again." He'd handled me gingerly after that. Like he was afraid of me. I didn't blame him. Not in the least.

The first expert had been fun to play with. He'd come in touting his résumé as though it were going to impress me. I'd laughed at him. He'd started waving his wand and speaking Latin. I supposed he thought he was casting a spell. He may well have been. But it certainly didn't have any effect on me. They'd left him with me for about two hours. When they finally came in to check on his progress, he was passed out on the floor. They got it into their heads that I had done something to him.

It was funny when they tried to punish me. They thought that maybe if they got _several_ Dementors together, they'd all be able to kiss me. It wouldn't be the first time several had ganged up on someone – and I had the memories to prove it. That was the weirdest part, of course. Having the memories of so many wizards and witches... And the occasional Muggle who'd happened to wander into an area they shouldn't have been.

The group they'd brought together simply circled me. Not once did they even try to siphon off any part of my soul, or even nip at a memory. I must have looked like a 'kindred spirit' to them. I certainly wasn't complaining about it, even if my guards were. I found it amusing that they were so disgruntled by the failure of their plan. They were displeased that I was entertained by their efforts, but it seemed that they quickly realized there wasn't anything they could do about it.

It wasn't until I'd seen the fifth curse breaker that they finally realized there wasn't anything they could do to 'fix' me. The ironic thing, at least in my mind, was that they _had_ finally fixed me from the problem I'd caused with that broken wand all those years ago. So there they were trying to undo what they had done – the same problem they'd had trying to undo what I'd done. Amused as I was, I knew that they couldn't stay stupid forever.

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><p>"Hope you're ready for some company in there, Lockhart!" The guard's voice echoed through the small slot in the door before he closed off the sliver of light the small opening allowed. I heard the locks clanging open, a conversation taking place in hushed tones just on the other side of the massive metal slab. There weren't many Muggle trappings in this prison, but the few that were present were effective in making all of us who were inmates feel completely hopeless.<p>

The guard reached his arm in the door, swishing his wand quickly in order to light my cell. The change in brightness blinded me only briefly, but it was long enough for the curse breaker to step inside. I snarled when my eyes adjusted, taking in the flaming red hair covering his head. He wasn't the boy who had let me cast the spell with that defective wand, but he _had_ to be related to the worthless bugger. The look he gave me in response let me know that he was fully aware of _why_ I was reacting that way. He didn't speak though.

He brought a chair with him, waiting until the guard closed the door to set it down. He put it right in front of the door. Whether he was trying to tell me he wasn't leaving, or telling me that _I_ wouldn't be, I didn't know. It was unimportant at any rate. I could certainly outlast any 'curse breaker'. Especially one who only wanted to make a name for himself like the upstart brat he was related to.

I gave him a whimsical smile. His demeanor didn't change. This one meant business, unlike the others they'd sent in the past. It had often seemed like they were all just throwing magic at me to see what they might be able to do through random chance. I found this especially comical, given my own history of doing exactly the same. It had almost been as though the Wizengamot had found an entire cache of less accomplished Lockharts that they had never realized were on their payroll. Or, perhaps the Ministry had known they were and they weren't well-vetted before being referred to the Wizengamot for this _particular_ case.

But this one, he just sat there, not saying a word. The scars running along his cheek were clearly the product of some battle with a magical creature. At least I could think of no other reason that the wounds would not have been easily healed through magical means. Since he was content to sit in silence, I took the time to study him. I made no attempt to disguise my actions either, letting my eyes linger on him in places I knew would make him uncomfortable. Oh, I held no sexual appetite for the wizard before me, but I would certainly take advantage of the opportunity to jangle his nerves.

I let my eyes linger on the curve of his cheek, biting back a smirk when he frowned. Allowing my gaze to continue to fall lower, I couldn't help but notice how his hair fell far past the collar of his shirt. I did grin a bit at that, the long flowing strands dredging up many of the happy memories that the Dementor had stolen from various inmates. One in particular came to the fore. The Dementor had haunted that inmate quite a bit, possibly because he had been hungry for the emotional release associated with those particular memories. I couldn't help but chuckle softly, both at the images in my mind and the growing discomfort of my guest – no matter how much he tried to hide it.

We stayed like that for quite a while. Though, I couldn't have guessed exactly how long as I had no means to keep track of time. I wasn't even granted a window to tell when the sun rose or set. If I were lucky, I'd be provided three meals in one day – but those weren't always guaranteed. Still, the time didn't seem to matter to the curse breaker. He just sat in his chair, not saying a word. Occasionally he would blink, and every so often a tick would seem to develop in his cheek. I had no idea how long we'd been staring at each other before I finally rolled my eyes and heaved a sigh. That seemed to be a sign for him.

As I exhaled, he raised his wand, a flash of light from it aimed toward my open mouth. I tried to clamp my jaws together, not knowing what it was he had intended. Though I didn't feel any ill-effects, he had a smug grin on his face. My eyes narrowed. If I had been able to concentrate the magic coursing in me with just my thoughts, the curse breaker would have been writing in agony. As it was, he was the only one able to execute any spells, and he one he'd chosen hadn't seemed to have any effect.

I'd finally had enough of that smug smirk and opened my mouth again to make a smart remark. When my lips parted, his wand was ready. The tip lit up, and even though I couldn't feel any change, I knew he had to be doing something to me. I closed my mouth rather quickly without uttering a sound. I didn't bother wasting another glare on him as I wondered what he could have possibly done to me. Nothing seemed to be different...

My thoughts derailed when I realized that one of my memories – or rather, one of the memories that had been stolen by the Dementor, was completely gone. Eyes wide, I clamped my jaw tightly shut as I stared at the red-headed menace. He had allowed himself a large grin, giving me a sly wink when he knew I had finally noticed the change. I gritted my teeth, knowing I would lose another of the memories when I opened my mouth to speak again.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" My voice was filled with hate. The last time I'd heard the same tone from my throat was when I'd been staring down that Potter brat in the Chamber of Secrets. As self-righteous as I had been then, it had been all falsehood and deception. I had never pretended otherwise when on my own, even though I would never have let anyone else even hint that the claims I'd made were anything less than completely factual.

He only smiled wider, nodding. I had no idea just how much he'd been able to take from me then, but I did know that he hadn't yet managed to grab the most important memories. I wasn't sure if even he knew what happened to the memories he was extracting, the ones that had been stolen from the witches and wizards who had lived them. But he had not yet gotten to the few happy moments which had been stolen from Potter by this particular Dementor, or the majority of Sirius Black's entire existence. Even if he had, though, it wouldn't have even compared to the immeasurable damage he could do the wizarding world if he stole the memory of that one, single event I had tried so hard to hide.

In the hope that he wouldn't continue to siphon the memories from me, I held up my hand. He tilted his head to the side, wand at the ready even as the jangling chains binding me assured him I could do nothing to harm him. "I know something." He snorted. "No, this is something that _no one_ else knows." He lowered the wand, and I noted that the tip had not lit up while I had spoken.

"You're assuming that the memories are hidden from me as I take them from you." His face gave nothing away. While he wasn't saying anything even remotely untrue, he didn't even give an impression of duplicity. I'd been lying for most of my life, so I knew quite well how to spot a half-truth. If he could see the slivers of hope he was removing, the moments of joy that the Dementor had greedily swallowed from prisoners, then he would know very quickly the one that was most important. Of course, if I kept that one in the forefront of my mind, it might be the very next to vanish with the light of his wand. I couldn't risk that.

I tapped my fingers against the stones nearest my hand as I considered my options. "Okay. But suppose that you're not getting the whole memory all at once. What happens if you only draw out part of it, and it's something you really need to know?"

He scoffed. "I _assure_ you that I never needed to know Sirius Black tried to seduce my mother. That was more information than I ever _wanted_ in my entire life." I cringed at that particular memory myself. For some reason, Sirius had held on to the way she'd publicly humiliated him as a moment of joy. Or, maybe, that was all he had had left by the time the Dementor had come across him to take that memory. It was unlikely, but possible, that Black had learned how to filter which memories the Dementor took. Of all the individuals whose memories I had swirling inside me, the majority belonged to him.

I bowed my head in deference to the red-head's statement. "I'll grant you that." I swallowed thickly. It was quite clear that he was able to see the whole of the memory – or at least enough of it in order to understand the events that transpired. There was no doubt in my mind that he would know the importance of that event. Of course, most complete simpletons would have understood why knowledge of that moment would be of great value. Most of the people who had any direct information about the event itself certainly wouldn't be telling anyone. "May I ask what's to become of me, then?"

His wand was resting across his lap, and he tapped it twice against his leg before answering. "What I'm doing won't affect your own life's memories. So what you did, since that belongs to you, will still be there. But everything that doesn't belong to you will be drawn out. You'll probably be left feeling very hollow. I don't think that many people will be upset by that, since you did the same to numerous witches and wizards who had all managed great feats." I scowled at him for that particular wound.

"That was beneath you."

His smirk grew to a large grin. "But not beneath you, Lockhart."

I could tell by the look in his eyes that he said it as a dare. I decided not to disappoint him. "No more so than sucking out my soul is beneath the Chief Warlock." The curse breaker reared back. "Didn't think about that, eh?"

He frowned for several minutes before answering. "It's not your soul I'm taking. It's the memories that were stolen by the being you somehow absorbed. Care to explain that, by the way?"

My eyes flicked to his wand. It was glowing once more. I felt my nostrils flare with the anger coursing through me. "You know very well that I can't." My teeth were gritted tightly together as I responded, but he was still able to draw memories out. I could feel them slowly slipping away. "Why can you only do that when my mouth is open?"

My red-headed tormentor abandoned any pretense of continuing to banter with me. "It's the only thing all of the ones before me never tried." I decided to test a theory of my own. He'd said that I absorbed the Dementor. If that were true, then his own experiences wouldn't be memories he'd stolen from others. I let my mouth hang open as he continued casting. "The Dementors drew the happy memories from the prisoners by sucking them out." It was almost a physical sensation, feeling the memories flow from my lips. I couldn't complain about the freedom of no longer having some of the secrets those memories had held, even though they would have been excellent blackmail material. "It made sense to focus any counter-curse on removing anything that doesn't belong inside you through the same means."

My mouth had gotten dry, so I closed it briefly. Licking my lips, I swallowed a few times before addressing something else that had been different in his approach. "The others focused on drawing out the Dementor as a whole being."

He didn't waste the opportunity. His wand was constantly lit now, the memories leaving me at a rapid pace. I'd never realized what a lonely, horrid existence Dementors must have lived. After all, they wouldn't need to suck the joy out of others if they had any in their own pitiful existence. Feeling the pleasant memories flowing out of me at such a rapid pace left me completely devoid of any ounce of happiness. I'd nearly fallen completely into my wallowing when he spoke again. "I'm not concerned with recovering the Dementor. From the things I'd heard you had said to others, I already knew this one in particular wouldn't be an issue."

Even though I was gasping for breath, I still managed to wheeze out my question. "An issue?"

He nodded. "For the minister to approve my destroying him."

His voice was so cold and calculated as he said it. Either he possessed no emotion, or he choice not to expend it on what he considered to be lesser beings. From the way he'd acted since coming into the cell, he considered me to be on the same lower level as Dementors. My lip curled in disgust. This wizard wanted to say that I wasn't worthy of life, that a Dementor wasn't worthy of life, but that _he_ had the authority to decide such a thing. I opened my mouth wide, clinging only to the experiences of the Dementor himself, not what he'd stolen from those he'd lived through vicariously.

White light flashed before my eyes as I felt the pilfered memories leave me in a rush. I could barely breathe. My gasps echoed through the cell. Still he didn't stop – he didn't even slow down a little bit. But I didn't even loosen the mental grasp on the one secret I knew they would all dearly love to have. I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness, coming back only when I heard him move the chair and bang his fist on the door.

"Are we all done, then?" I was wheezing and I couldn't open my eyes, but I could still see that glorious night in my mind with all of its beautiful secrets. Even with all of the other positive sentiments in the world having left me, I took great joy in knowing that I was right. They couldn't destroy the Dementor within me.

"I've gotten what I needed to." His voice was hollow and sounded far off, even though I knew he was still in the cell. I chuckled softly. "What's so funny, Lockhart?"

Prying my eyelids open, I blinked several times before the blank whiteness cleared enough to let me look in his direction. He wasn't any more than a dark fuzzy shape surrounded by blackness, and the idea of anything else being born of the darkness of this prison made me giggle. "You didn't find it."

"He's lost his mind, sir. As far our spells can find, there's only one being in there now." The guard had kept his voice low. I suppose he didn't want me to hear him.

"Oh, I don't care what your spells say! And of course there's only me in here! Well, me and the Dementor I swallowed whole." I cackled a bit. Perhaps he had a point about me going around the bend a bit.

The curse breaker's shadow moved closer. "_What_ didn't I find?"

I was still snickering as I answered him, stuttering a bit on my response. "The secret."

"What secret?" His voice sounded like he wanted to grab me and shake me violently. Propriety being important, I was quite certain that he'd received orders not to touch me. That's likely why he'd sat so far away from me when he'd come in.

"The greatest secret of them all." I mimicked a tune from a Weird Sisters' album in answering him. He scoffed and turned to leave. "Don't you want to know what it is?"

His sigh filled the air. Perhaps he thought he'd overdone his bit in punishing me for my crimes. No matter. "Sure, Lockhart. What's the big secret?"

"Tom Riddle had a kid." I paused, scrunching my face in thought. "Has a kid." I shrugged, looking up at him. His image was starting to clear a bit. "Either way, there's an heir."

Both of them scoffed. "Oh, really? And just when was this supposed to have happened?"

I wasn't sure which one had spoken, and I didn't really care. I just smiled at the pair of them. "Do you know one thing a Dementor can't say no to?" I paused, but I didn't really expect an answer. "Happiness." I laughed, snorting slightly as I allowed my mirth to overtake me. "I don't know much happier than a woman who's going to be the mother of the Dark Lord's heir when he's the only one she ever truly loved." I couldn't help but cackle as they finally closed the door on me. They'd left the panel open, though. Like they wanted to hear what I had to say but didn't want to acknowledge their own curiosity. "After all, who wouldn't want to bring him back into the world?" The receding footsteps halted, turned, and then came back to stand outside the door. The sliver of light that had come through the opening vanished.

I gave in to hysterical laughter, letting it echo through the cell as the hours passed.

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><p><em>I appreciate all of you taking the time to read. I'd love to hear any thoughts you may have.<em>


	11. XI: Hermione

__Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Twilight. I make no profit from this work of fiction.__

__**Author's note**____: Thank you all for taking the time to peruse this tale. I do appreciate that you've taken time out of your day to read this. __

__Please do bear in mind that I cannot improve without feedback. __

__Review responses – and any announcements – will be posted here: (FB URL) /pages/RogueMudblood/684906514892205__

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><p>Ever since Ginny had become pregnant, Ron had been insisting that I 'get busy' on having kids. I had scowled – quite a bit, actually. He could be so archaic at times, especially with how he spoke to me. I ignored most of it, reminding myself repeatedly that I was from a different society. He had grown up where this was normal – women weren't expected to do much other than see to the household. From the poor to the wealthy, the women were only expected to stay at home once married.<p>

I'd been told more than once that _married_ witches don't work outside the home. He'd given me at least a dozen different reasons why, among them that _married_ witches had far too much to do taking care of their wizard and his children. My blood had boiled and we'd had a magnificent row. Not the least of my complaints on that statement was the part where he'd said that any children coming from a marriage 'belonged' to the wizard. Nine months of pregnancy, mood swings, odd cravings, _pain_... None of that had seemed to matter in the least to him. I'd told him he could rot in Tartarus before I'd bear his children as long as he held such an archaic attitude. After all, I'd already given up a great deal.

And I'd been downright angry at the idea that married witches couldn't work in this world of his. That was one point of the argument he wouldn't back down on, though. He had shown me clipping after clipping from the Prophet proving his point. When the star chaser for the Holyhead Harpies had married, she'd quit the team. Whenever any witch working with Harry in the Auror department got married, she'd turn in her notice. He had quickly reminded me that not a single one of the female professors at Hogwarts had been married. Even Bridget Wenlock, whom Ron _knew_ was one of my idols, had never married. I came to the distressing realization that he was correct – working witches weren't married. When I had reminded him that I had set a lot of records in my time – and I hadn't been around all that long – he had just pursed his lips and left our small cottage.

Pushing the thoughts of my most recent, and apparently interminable, row with Ron from my mind, I touched my wand to the front gate of the castle grounds. The breeze that blew through sent a shiver down my spine. I pulled my cloak more tightly around me, taking the opportunity to fasten the inner clasps over my chest as I waited for the gates to open. Hearing the crunch of the snow as it was compacted under large boots, I looked back up to see the tall, lumbering figure headed toward me. I smiled broadly as I took in the familiar frame. Just seeing him coming slowly across the whitened ground brought back memories of happier times. Perhaps not easier, but no doubt more carefree. Despite all the threats to Harry at that time, the three of us had never been concerned with the more mundane things in life. The more depressing thoughts that started to come to my mind dissipated as he opened the gates, leaning over to pull me into his arms.

"Hermione! No one told me you were coming!" His words were a bit muffled as the sound was muted by his beard. I could feel the wetness of his tears seeping into my cloak at the shoulder. My smile softened, even though he couldn't see it. After several moments he set me back down.

"I missed you too, Hagrid." Patting his hand, we started walking towards the castle. It had been quite a while since I had been at Hogwarts. I hadn't even bothered to join Harry for the visits he'd had with Minerva over his temporarily teaching the Defense classes. He'd written to me, letting me know that Malfoy was back at Hogwarts. How that pardon had ever gotten approved was beyond me. It was one of the many reasons that I had wanted to take a position within the Ministry. Even if I didn't agree with their tactics, I would at least be in a position to make sure the public knew about any potentially devastating changes – like letting a known Death Eater teach their children – before they became policy.

Shaking the thoughts from my mind once more, I grinned up at Hagrid as he escorted me up the massive stone steps. The newly installed gargoyles on either side of the entryway turned their heads, their eyes seeming to glow as they stared at me. I shuddered as I looked up at them. It was extremely disconcerting feeling them peer into my soul. Or, as I'd come to equate the concept among wizardkind, my magical core. I wondered briefly if they did this to every student who entered the grounds – if this might be something they'd enacted in some highly invasive intent to weed out dark wizards before they could enter the castle. I couldn't help but frown at the idea of it.

The doors slowly opened, the massive hinges creaking as the overly tall doors parted. Hagrid escorted me up the steps while I took a few moments to look over all the changes to the castle since it had been rebuilt. I was so engrossed in the newer magic I could feel coursing through the walls when I placed my hand upon them that I hadn't heard the woman who had come rushing toward me. The magic she exuded brushed against my own, alerting me to her presence in just enough time to turn and be enveloped in her warm hug. Hagrid's booming laugh echoed off the high ceilings as Minerva gripped me tightly against her.

"It's so good to see you, Hermione!" She pushed back from me, keeping her hands on my shoulders. I couldn't help but smile up at her. From the grip she kept on me, it was obvious that Minerva still felt some responsibility for all the things that had happened. And judging by the look on her face, she had something she was going to try and hide from me. I pursed my lips. "We weren't expecting you to visit during term."

The smile I graced her with was admittedly strained. "It's not a problem, is it?"

Her return grin seemed forced as well. "Of course not, dear." My eyes narrowed slightly. Even a Hufflepuff would be able to tell she was lying. The Headmistress had something she wanted to hide from me. She wasn't doing a very good job of allaying suspicion. She guided me back to her office, giving the password to the statue. Her body stiffened a moment before she tried to move me more quickly toward the stairwell. One look down the hallway let me know precisely why.

A very familiar blond wizard made his way down the corridor at a leisurely pace. His thoughts seemed to be elsewhere as he approached us. I took advantage of his inattention, studying him. His face seemed more drawn than it had been in the newspaper photograph announcing his return to England – declaring his pardon. I hadn't thought it possible for him to be any paler than he had been throughout our years at school, but unless my memory failed me, he had lost quite a bit of his pigmentation. My eyes narrowed as he continued to approach, seemingly oblivious to my presence. Realizing that I wasn't going to move up the stairwell like she wanted me to, Minerva called to him.

"Draco. Have you had any other issues from Mister Morris? His mother was quite concerned when she got his owl, but I explained to her that peer tutoring is a practice Hogwarts has observed for quite some time." He looked up at Minerva, the glazed look fading from his eyes as his brow wrinkled. He didn't answer her immediately, which seemed to suit the Headmistress as she continued to talk. "Hermione, you can vouch for that, can't you?" His head turned to me swiftly, as though noticing for the first time that I was standing there. As a Malfoy he was well-schooled in keeping his reactions from showing overtly. Having observed him for more than half a decade, I knew that the one thing he had never been able to control was his heart rate. The visible pulsing of his carotid artery, the throbbing making his neck appear to be jumping slightly, indicated he still hadn't realized what his greatest tell was. I certainly wasn't going to inform him.

He gave me a curt nod before turning to Minerva. I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. When we had both been students he would rather have swallowed flobberworms whole than to have acknowledged me as an equal. Perhaps he had changed slightly. Mentally shrugging, I turned my attention to their conversation, limited though it was to discussions of students and classroom matters. Apparently he had taken over Septima's job. I suppressed a sigh as I learned why. The professor whose class I'd so dearly loved had gotten married.

As their conversation drew to a close, Minerva plastered another grin on her face, turning to me and motioning me up to her office once more. I looked at Malfoy before following her, thinking clearly that I wanted a word with him. He raised an eyebrow but nodded. Another question answered – at some point, he'd learned Legilimency. At least he was willing to speak with me, even though he didn't know what I intended to bring up. I bowed my head slightly in acknowledgment before following Minerva up to her office.

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><p>When the obligatory greetings had been dispensed with, it was time for lunch in the Great Hall. I couldn't help the grin that stretched over my face at all the memories that came back to me. They were more happy than sad, even though some of the less pleasant ones did sneak to the forefront of my mind as I walked past the Slytherin table. Perhaps it was fate that Malfoy happened to pass by just then. He nodded to me, and the public nature of the gesture didn't escape me. Nor did the Slytherins miss it. There was a murmur that floated down their table until one of the older students, sitting closest to the Head Table, rose. The reaction was almost instantaneous. All sound seemed to cease in a moment.<p>

As I looked over to her, I couldn't help but notice the strikingly familiar features. A shiver ran down my spine and my hand flew to my throat. My pulse was racing and I could feel my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. From the corner of my eye I saw Malfoy motion to someone else in the Hall. I didn't turn to look, too focused on the girl. Her gaze met mine and I was relieved to see that the color wasn't the same as her mother's. I had no doubt who her mother must be.

I would never, in a thousand lifetimes, ever forget that witch. Her cackle as she'd held me against her would be forever etched into my mind. I'd taken pleasure in claiming that wand from its owner and I took a great deal of comfort in running my finger surreptitiously along my left arm, feeling the shaft of that same wand tightly strapped to my arm. It hadn't worked properly for me, and it had taken some time to get another one fashioned properly for my magic. But I had held on to it. It had given me comfort to know that it was still in my possession, that she couldn't use it to harm me again.

Staring at the girl, it was clear that she held ill will towards me, though whether that was a specific hate or a generic distaste for my bloodline I couldn't be sure. All thoughts about her sentiments flew from my mind as I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I didn't hesitate. My wand, specially fashioned for me after the war, slid from its sheath at my magical command. As I turned, the hand slipped from my right shoulder. Reaching out with my left hand, I grasped it tightly, wrenching the thumb backward to its breaking point without snapping the bone. My wand dug into the neck of the person who had accosted me to the point of breaking the skin. My mind was caught in the fog of past memories, and it was several seconds before I recognized Harry. My wand hand shook as I lowered it, tears springing to my eyes.

After several moments of silence, Harry wiggled the fingers of the hand I still held captive. "D'you mind, Hermione? I do like having all my fingers, yeah?" I felt the color rise in my cheeks, my skin turning hot as I released his hand, swishing my wand to heal the damage I'd done. He simply smiled at me, offering his arm. "It's not going to bite, ya know." At the rate the blood was rushing to my face I wasn't sure that the skin there would ever resume a normal pallor. As he led me down the row to seats near the Head Table, I made the decision to give in to my gut feeling.

"Apó to parelthón, i mageía vreíte gia to ravdí mou poreía tou desmév̱oun to." The swishes of my wand were hidden by my robe. I had never shared this spell with Harry or Ron. There was certainly no way that I would ever tell Ginny. It might, some day, turn out to be my 'ace in the whole', as it were. I had thought I'd kept my voice quiet enough. Harry's question let me know I hadn't.

"What language is that?" Even through my surprise I couldn't help a smirk. Harry helped me to a seat from which I could clearly see the Slytherin table. When I looked up, I found three sets of eyes trained on me from that direction. The girl's eyes were narrowed, and even though I knew there was nothing she could do to harm me in the Great Hall, I could not help my visceral reaction. I knew without a doubt that I would be having nightmares when I went to sleep.

Electing not to acknowledge Harry's question, I changed the subject. "Who's that sitting at the Slytherin table?" He turned to look, and the change in his demeanor was palpable. The darkness I'd known him to fight throughout our childhood years was rising to the surface. I'd thought for certain that had vanished after that great battle. It had seemed to evaporate in the aftermath of the brilliant green light that had seemed to light up the entire battlefield. The change had me considering carefully what I would reveal to him when my spell was complete.

After several moments of silence in which the girl's gaze had shifted from me to him, he finally turned back to face me. "He's a tutor for the transfer student. Minerva explained that while most of her scores were high, one subject was a bit lower than the rest, so he's here to make sure she improves and can keep up with the classwork." I nodded, putting food on my plate. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Harry look down at his own and smirk. "Hermione, you did it again."

"Hm?" I continued putting food on my own plate, not paying much attention to the look he was giving me. He placed his hand gently over my own, getting my attention. I looked up at him as he glanced down to his own plate, his eyes holding an affection smile as he looked back to me. My gaze went down to his plate and I noted it was filled with the same foods I was putting on my own. "Oh." The blush was rising to my cheeks once more. "Sorry."

I looked down at my plate, slowly picking at my food. Harry's fingers gently grasped my chin, guiding it upwards. The smile was still dancing in his eyes. The biggest benefit I saw to my own embarrassment was that the darkness that had come over him so quickly when looking at the student he'd said was a transfer had dissipated almost as quickly as it had come. "It's okay. You're accustomed to serving dinner as in a proper household." The smile I gave him drew the muscles of my face taut. I fought the urge to make a snide comment and wondered just when Harry had become so brainwashed by the wizard ideology that he had completely forgotten the Muggle roots he had come from. He seemed to have completely embraced the idea of a subservient woman.

We ate the rest of our meal in relative silence, only making idle conversation as expected. Though Harry was still curious about the spell, he didn't bring it up again. If anyone else had overheard it, I was quite certain that they didn't speak Greek. After all, Latin was the predominant language for spellcasting. When lunch ended, Harry escorted me from the Great Hall, bowing over my hand as he left me standing in the entryway of the castle. I shook my head as he walked away, rushing to his next class. Though memories did swim to the surface of old adventures, they did not distract me from the presence that came up behind me. Levity left me in an instant as I turned.

"You wanted to talk, Madam Weasley?" I raised an eyebrow at the formal address but nodded my head. He offered me his arm as an escort. Though I found the gesture extremely odd, I accepted it, laying my arm atop his as would be expected at a more formal affair. As we proceeded down the corridor I couldn't help but notice the twitch of his mouth as he tried to hide his smirk. Students moved out of our path as he escorted me to the office off of his classroom. As soon as the door was closed he moved away from me, careful not to treat me with evident disdain. It was a tacit acknowledgment of both his position and my own status which was more than I had expected of him. Once we were both seated, he looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and irritation. "How can I help you."

It wasn't really a question, and his tone was quite firm. I gave him a tight smile in return. "There was a completely different matter I wanted to discuss with you, but I think there's a more pressing concern." His eyes flashed with an emotion I couldn't immediately identify. "Mal... I'm afraid I'm not entirely certain how to address you under these circumstances."

His unease left him for a brief moment as he smirked. "Let's just be informal here, Granger." Even though it wasn't my last name any longer, there was some nostalgia involved in hearing him call me by it. I couldn't help my brief smile. I nodded to him in acceptance before continuing.

"That makes it easier, Malfoy." I cleared my throat, looking down at my hands. I considered, for a moment, trying to bring up the matter without involving his familial connection, but it really wasn't possible to do so. Carefully slipping Bellatrix's wand from its casing on my left arm, I laid it on his desk. His eyes widened as he took it in. "Malfoy, who is she?" He looked up at me, and I could clearly identify the emotion playing in his eyes then. Panic.

He quickly looked away from me, his gaze returning to the wand. "To whom are you referring, Granger?"

"Don't play coy. Who is the transfer? I _know_ she's related to Bellatrix." My hair was beginning to frizz. I could feel the spark of my magic as it found the only outlet it safely could. The sensation caused me to frown, giving Malfoy the impression I was displeased with his reticence. I didn't even try to correct the misperception.

"She's a transfer from the Americas." I narrowed my eyes. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. His nervousness wasn't showing on his face, but he was clearly concerned about revealing something to me.

I decided to press him. "That's not an answer. You're a Black yourself. So she's related to you." He didn't deny it, and he was careful not to make eye contact with me. "As far as my research into the Black family showed, there were no members who were ever in the Americas." Malfoy did nod at that, so he was at least listening to me. "So unless she's Muggle-born..." His fist clenched, his glare holding pure hatred for even insinuating such a thing as he looked up at me finally. "Then who is she, Malfoy?" He pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders. Heaving an aggravated sigh, I leaned forward in my chair, snatching Bellatrix's wand from his desk and re-sheathing it. "Look, she's the spitting image of Bellatrix. You _know _there's no way that I would _ever _forget." He shuddered. I didn't need to give him any more detail – he knew full well what event I was referring to. I chose not to give him an out. "She's Bellatrix's daughter, isn't she?"

His mouth fell open slightly, a choked-sounding exhale sliding audibly through his gritted teeth. His hands were shaking as he grabbed the arms of his chair. His eyebrows had drawn tightly together and his nostrils were flaring. Looking into his eyes, though, it was clear that anger was not the motivation for his responses. I sat back in the chair.

"You can't answer that. Can you." I wasn't really asking, but he answered anyway, shaking his head. Apparently, whatever agreement he'd made with whatever devil that had coerced him to do it had made some rather unwholesome demands in the magical restraints they had placed on him. I nodded, rising from the chair. I stepped over to his office Floo, slipping a handful of powder from the urn he had placed on the mantle. "That is an answer of itself." I threw the powder into the fireplace, calling out for Harry's office. The flames immediately flashed green and I stepped inside. As I turned back towards the hearth, I saw Malfoy sitting at his desk, a mixture of both relief and fear showing on his face. I'd never seen him so open with his emotions.

The green flame finally obscured him from my view and in a blink I was standing in Harry's office. I could hear him in the classroom, lecturing third years on Grindylows and werewolves. I sighed, making myself comfortable in the chair in his office. I waited for his class session to end.

I was thankful that the wait was a short one. Harry entered his office, seemingly unaware of my presence. It wasn't until I scoffed aloud that he finally acknowledged me.

"I've known you were there, Hermione. I simply expected you to let me know why you've decided to drop in unannounced."

I narrowed my eyes at his back as he continued preparing for his next class. "I didn't interrupt your class, even though this is incredibly important."

He turned, leaning back against the bookshelf he had been pulling materials from. "Obviously, or you wouldn't have used the school Floo to make your way about the castle."

I crossed my arms over my chest. He mimicked me, and I scowled. "What do you know about the transfer student?" He shrugged and raised an eyebrow, silently asking me the same. "Malfoy says she's from the Americas." Harry nodded. His nonchalance about the matter was grating on my nerves and I nearly wanted to give him a hearty slap. I might have done when we were children, but I had learned to control such impulses. "Harry, she can't be."

He sighed. "Why, Hermione? Why can't she just be a slightly above average Pure-blood witch from the Americas?"

I stood, still glaring at him. "Because she's the daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange." Harry's wide eyes let me know that he had given no thought to her parentage or why she might be so familiar to him. After several moments, he finally responded.

"That's not possible." His voice was firm, although incredibly soft. I had strained to hear it.

Nearly growling my response, I did manage to refrain from stamping my foot. "And just why not?"

He looked into my eyes then, uncertainty written on his face. "Because she was born in 1987." My eyebrows knitted together as I searched my mind for the significance of the date. He didn't give me the time to find it. "Bellatrix was in Azkaban in 1987."

I shook my head, biting my lower lip. "I don't care, Harry. She's Bellatrix's daughter." He straightened, stepping toward me. I held up my hand. "No, Harry. I'm not wrong about this. She _is_ Bellatrix's daughter. And I will find a way to prove that to you." I stood, walking around the chair. I stopped in the doorway of the office leading into the classroom beyond. "I will find the evidence. Because the _last_ thing we need after what we've been through is another Dark Lord – or in this case Dark Lady – trying to shape the wizarding world to their own demented ends." I walked away from him then, ignoring his calls for me to return. I was determined, and I'd go all the way to the Americas if need be.

There would not be another devastating war. Not while I was able to do anything to prevent it.


	12. XII: Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington

__Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Twilight. I make no profit from this work of fiction.__

__**Author's note**____: Thank you – ____**all**____ of you – for taking time from your day to read this. ____Feel free to let me know how I'm doing. The style of this story is a bit experimental for me, so I'd like feedback on it.__

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><p>I'd been very glad to see Harry in the castle again. He'd grown quite a bit since the last time I'd seen him, but he still seemed to have that mischievous air about him. I hadn't known I'd miss it, but I'd been dearly disappointed when none of those sorted into Gryffindor <em>after<em> seemed to have any desire to be _fun_. Certainly I didn't want the level of disorder that Peeves brought with him. That pest had never learned how to behave properly. Just thinking of students having to deal with that sad bastard makes me pity them.

Nevertheless, it had been incredibly amusing watching Harry and his friends avoid trouble year after year. They'd always been willing to take on Snape. That Slytherin bat had always been a little too full of himself, and it had been satisfying to see him taken down by wit instead of the brawn that James Potter had always insisted on using. So when Harry had returned to the castle, I had been looking forward to more good times among the Gryffindors. What happened instead was distressing.

His classes were – as expected – eventful. Especially once the new term started. Not only did he have a new student, but he'd been visited by an old friend. I had hoped that an American student would bring in a little flavor to the class – but she'd only brought terror and fear so far. The other students were frightened of her. Including the Slytherins, although they also regarded her with an amount of reverence that spooked me. I hadn't seen anything like it since Tome Riddle had been a student, and it scared me, to be perfectly frank.

When Hermione had come, when she'd shown such concern over the new student, I had been sure that she'd say something to Harry. Maybe she'd see the change in him. But she hadn't stayed long enough. She'd left – as always, to do her research. I'd sighed when she left, watching her storm from the castle in a huff, her hair frizzing out around her in a puff as she unconsciously infused it with magic. I'd turned back to the castle stairs to find Harry standing there, the boyish grin that had been so long absent firmly affixed to his face. For a brief moment I'd given in to my hope, and I'd approached him. He hadn't been receptive.

Several times after that I'd crossed his path. It had seemed to depend on the day as to how receptive he'd be, which was a far cry from how he'd behaved when he was a student in these hallowed halls. I took the opportunities afforded me by his snubbing to observe how others acted towards him. It said just as much as how he acted towards them.

I'd been surprised to see him less receptive towards Minerva than he was towards the tutor who had accompanied the new student. He had been very wary at first. He'd given the other wizard a wide berth in his classes, but he'd also made certain that the other wizard knew Harry was the one 'in charge' so to speak. The paid had been rather entertaining to watch in defense class as they sparred. The student in his charge, however, hadn't seemed to possess the prowess with her wand that he did. It was possible that she was only acting, but it had resulted in several meetings between the wizards, Minerva, and that girl. At one point I half expected them to fire-call the States and try to raise a relative. That, of course, was when I'd learned that her parents were dead.

"Miss Swan, because you're of age, there is no part of wizarding law that allows for another party to be called in to help you improve your grades." Minerva layed her glasses down on the desk, the forefinger and thumb of her left hand pinching the bridge of her nose. She took a deep breath, hunching her shoulders slightly before dropping her hand and looking back at the witch. "This is a perfect example of_why_ Hogwarts does not accept transfer students. We never know the amount of discipline that you've been required to hold in another school. As an adult, we expect certain behaviors of you." She paused, pursing her lips as she leaned back in her chair. Miss Swan, for her part, appeared completely unconcerned with the proceedings.

Understandably, Minerva had been irked by the evident dismissal. I didn't blame her. I'd ensconced myself in a wall so that she wouldn't know I was eavesdropping. That witch had a tendency to be less than understanding when it came to what she considered an invasion of her private discussions. Normally, I would have gotten my gossip like most of the living in Hogwarts. From the portraits. But they seemed to be very tight-lipped where this particular witch was concerned. To say I wanted to know what kind of hold she had over everyone would be a vast understatement.

Minerva stood and rounded her desk, eyes affixed to the tutor. "When I agreed to let you into the school, I understood that you would be tutoring her, helping her to keep pace with the other students." He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her hand. "I appreciate that she has improved a great deal in Transfiguration and Potions. In that respect, I have no issues at all with your tutelage." Pursing his lips, the wizard nodded. The headmistress then turned her attention to the other wizard in the room. I let my eyes look to Harry. His muscles had tensed as she looked at him. He likely knew exactly what was coming, and he didn't appear to be too keen on the idea. "For some reason, though, she has continually received poor marks in Mister Potter's class." Minerva's voice was tinged with irritation.

"I'll remind you, Headmistress, that this was intended as a guest position and I was not expected to be teaching it full time." While I could certainly understand him wanting to make his point, Harry could not have picked a worse moment – or a worse enemy. Minerva might be known for being calm and collected, but I tended to think of that as her 'keeping it close to the vest', if you will. I certainly didn't have any desire to be around when she blew her top. I didn't even want to be on the same island when that happened.

"I _am_ aware, Mister Potter." I hadn't heard her use that tone outside addressing first years. From his wince, Harry had made the same connection. "Regardless, the fact is that Miss Swan simply isn't able to keep up with her classmates in Defense. So we have two options available to us. She can either receive private tutoring from you, Mister Potter." Harry's face blanched at the idea. For some reason he didn't seem to want to spend time alone in a room with the witch. "Or she can withdraw for the rest of this term, and re-test at the beginning of next term."

"Unacceptable!" The girl's private tutor had stood quickly at the suggestion, clearly affronted. I couldn't blame him. After all, his own ability to help the girl keep pace with the courses was at issue. If she failed, his reputation was at stake, and any potential future employers would be more apt to consider other tutors. On the other hand, asking for assistance from the course's professor would not be a complete denigration of his talents. It could be seen as an admission of limitation, or as a cunning way of making certain he didn't spread himself so thin he couldn't help her where she needed it most.

Harry's jaw had dropped at Minerva's statement. "A-alone? Surely not..."

One of the portraits chuckled darkly, approaching Harry from behind. "What's the matter, Potter? Afraid of a few minutes in a room with a witch learning Defense?" Harry's face took on a mulish expression he had become well known for during his time as a student. "That's odd." The portrait moved into another frame, so as to speak in Harry's other ear. "It never seemed to bother you in your fifth year."

Though his wand had dropped into his hand and he was known for making rash decisions, Harry did manage to keep his temper well enough that he didn't start singeing portraits. It certainly wouldn't have won him any favors throughout the castle, which might have been a motivating factor. Either way, even though his hand shook with the energy he was repressing, he did manage to keep from destroying the headmistress' office.

The witch in question raised her wand, lighting the tip. "I'd like to voice my opinion on the matter, if all of the blustering is finished." Both wizards blushed a bit at the rebuke. "I have no intentions of leaving for the remainder of term." Minerva's eyes flashed briefly. "Please, allow me to explain." I'd say this for the girl, she certainly did know her audience. Minerva waved a hand in acquiescence. "It would be very difficult for me to re-enter the school next year, even if I were able to bring my prowess up to a level acceptable to you, and not suffer the ridicule of my housemates." She stared into Minerva's eyes as she spoke, appealing to the Gryffindor humanitarianism with finesse worthy of a Slytherin. "You can appreciate, I'm sure, how that would interfere with my studies for _next_ term, and then we'd be right back here as we are now." Leaning back in her chair, the younger witch slid her wand back up her sleeve. She'd certainly caught the attention of the room – even the portraits were listening attentively to her argument.

"I can certainly understand Professor Potter's reluctance to see me in a private setting. I'm certainly it wouldn't allay his fears any to have another adult male present, as then the rumors which spread about this castle would only be even more imaginative." I'd never known a wizard could turn green and red at the same time, but Harry was doing a fair impression of those Muggle Yule trees Albus had been so fond of over the years. "And it would hardly be fair, Headmistress, to ask to avail ourselves of your company on every evening that Professor Potter deems it necessary to meet with me." She turned to Harry then, and I could clearly see her suppressing the urge to laugh. "I imagine that this wouldn't be so much of an issue if I were a young year student? Or if I were a younger student in my year? After all, I'm certain that it's not only females that spend time propositioning you, Professor."

The portrait that had goaded Harry was standing with his head buried against his cloak-covered forearm. I could only imagine that he was trying to stifle his laughter, since his shoulders were shaking. I was careful to keep myself hidden in the wall – one look at me and Harry would never speak to me again. A glance to Albus' portrait showed the expected twinkling eyes, and a glance to the wizard under scrutiny showed that he was in danger of turning into a plum. His nostrils were flaring and his skin had taken on an unhealthy color. Nevertheless, he managed a nod.

"Then the problem is a question of propriety." The girl seemed to have lost traction, as that's where she ended her statements for several minutes.

Minerva wasn't known for her patience when she wanted answers, something Albus had exploited greatly over the years if only to file her on occasion. "Yes, Miss Swan. That assessment, however, doesn't present a solution. Have you one, or were you merely speaking simply to hear your own voice?" The flash in the girl's eyes startled me. I'd only seen it once before, and that was many years before her birth. It was a clear promise of retribution for embarrassment. I didn't envy Minerva her duty in keeping this little witch in line. Given how tight-lipped the Bloody Baron had been about the girl's parentage, I began to wonder myself if she might have been some distant relation. It wasn't unheard of, after all.

"The solution is a simple one, Headmistress." Though the words weren't forced through clenched teeth, they certainly weren't offered pleasantly. "You can simply cast a spell to see if the professor has taken any undesired liberties with my person."

Her own tutor nodded, offering to cast the spell. "I'd be happy to cast it myself if it would save you the trouble, Headmistress."

Minerva steepled her fingers, something I didn't see her do often. I'd seen several of the other headmasters make that same gesture over the years, though. Perhaps it was something that came into the wizard or witch when the office was assumed, and the person in it was accepted by the castle. It always happened whenever there was an issue of trust that conflicted with an interest of prudence. It would be imprudent of Minerva to trust this wizard with the only copy of the spell, but also imprudent of her to dismiss his offer casually, practically announcing that she didn't trust him. She compromised.

"I will concede to your casting if you will also concede to mine." His lips quirked in a half smile as he nodded. "Very well, then. Let us get on with it."

I shouldn't have stayed in the room then. It was my own fault, of course. And I'd been a fool to think that Minerva hadn't noticed my presence. She had. And she took full advantage of it. When she cast her spell, she wove a witness into hers. Me. Whenever Potter and the girl were to be alone, no matter where I was or what I was doing, I'd be whisked to them by this spell. They'd be none the wiser either. Because I was hiding in the wall while she cast it, I'd be consigned to a wall whenever it was enforced. Oh, I moved during the spell to try to counteract that, but I didn't get very far before she'd finished, grinning smugly when she had. Her magic was strong enough to cast it and make it happen, too. The really clever thing, though, was in how she worded it. She made sure that no one in the room besides the two of us – and possibly the portraits – even had a clue what she was actually saying.

Never cross a Scotswoman. They'll always get you in the end.

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><p>I'd been having a nice discussion with some of the third year Gryffindor girls when I felt the spell activate again. I was convinced this girl had some other motive, but I certainly couldn't convince Minerva of it. No matter how much I told her that the witch did<em>not<em> need assistance with Defense, she insisted that the grades she was bringing in simply didn't bear that argument out. I'd managed to squeak out a small farewell before being whisked into the wall of yet another darkened corridor. I knew why harry didn't want to meet in a classroom, but it seemed to have escaped him just how bad it would look if he were seen in a dark hallway with her. That boy was far too naive.

"So _that's_ how you do that!" A smile was plastered on the girl's face as she watched Harry's wand movement. She placed her fingers along his wrist. I felt my eyebrows rise to my hairline as I saw her thumb tracing the artery along his wrist. It pulsed rapidly, even though I couldn't note any change in his breathing. Whether he was nervous or excited I wasn't sure. She managed to infuse her voice with just the right amount of innocence. "Can you show me again... Professor?" The last word was clearly separated from the rest. It was obvious to me that she didn't have pure intentions. I wondered if Harry simply didn't notice, or if he liked to dance with firelight.

He coughed gently, clearing his throat before he answered. "Certainly, Miss Swan." I could have sworn I saw a blush spreading into his cheeks and creeping down his neck. She did not move her hand from his wrist as he went through the motions again. I felt my eyes rolling in their sockets at the obviousness of her tactics. To his credit, Harry didn't give her the satisfaction of a base reaction. Sadly, his voice cracked when he spoke next. "You see how it's done, then?"

Her smile couldn't be described as anything other than coquettish as she leaned up to him, placing her mouth scant inches from his ear. "I do." Her voice was hardly a whisper, but it carried well in the empty corridor. Harry shivered at the sound and I bit back a sigh. He might be chronologically a man, but he was still a lad in so many ways. Too busy trying to deal with a dark lord during his youth to have a proper go of it with a lass, he'd never learned how to best handle situations like this. Many times I'd voiced my anger at Albus for his ways of handling the boy over the years, but naught was left for me to rail at other than his portrait at this point. Were the man still around, I would gladly have brought him down from his tower, out of whatever pleasant dream he may have been having simply to witness the results of his folly.

My lip curled in disgust as Harry turned to her, their faces so close I was certain if he'd had any kind of malady she'd have caught it straight away. I dearly hoped he had, as the Muggles say, 'brushed his teeth'. Whatever he had been prepared to say to her seemed to die in his throat as he swallowed rather audibly. Sweat dripped lightly from his forehead, but he made no move to wipe it away. I couldn't blame him. It was certain she'd notice the motion and take it to mean she was having an effect on him. Which was not in any doubt, but if he were as smart a lad as we had always thought he certainly wouldn't want her to know it outright.

Her tongue slipped out to wet her lips. I suppose she thought it was sultry and seductive, the little pink tip just peeking out between her teeth. To me it looked like she hadn't fully chewed her meat at dinner and could use a lesson in mastication. Regardless, the lad seemed intrigued, which was something I couldn't idly sit by and allow. All the same, I had no interest in losing favor with him. Harry had been a good lad since his first year, if a bit misdirected over the years. I supposed this time was no different than the others. I couldn't help but be disappointed that he still 'fell for the same tricks', as it were.

The girl leaned closer to Harry. If there had been a time for someone to sneeze, that would have been it. Or for Peeves to drop through with a bucket of ice water, dousing them like fourth years caught necking behind the tapestries. The poltergeist had gained some measure of respect for Harry, though. Seeing someone fight in a war, willing to die, will do that. I would that my end had been so noble as many of those who had gone on during those battles.

Rousing myself from my thoughts, I could barely make out what the girl was whispering. "...happy to show you. _Professor_." Given Harry's squirming, how quickly he stepped away from her, there was no doubt as to the subject of her offer.

"Miss Swan, I am flattered." Her smile broadened, even though he continued to step away from her. "But I am your teacher."

She advanced on him, and he did something that I'd never actually seen a wizard do. He backed up until he was flush against the wall and she could trap him between her outstretched hands. I happened to be hiding in the stretch of stone directly behind him, and I couldn't help the scoff of disgust I gave voice to. Her eyes narrowed briefly before she dismissed the noise, apparently as a figment of her imagination. That, or she simply didn't care if he was disgusted. Her left hand was planted against the wall as she leaned in to Harry, the fingers of her right hand sliding along the front of his robes.

"Oh, I know that. _Professor_." The tongue again. I could have sworn she learned only three seduction tricks. And the Bloody Baron had always told us that Slytherins were _cunning_. Ha! "That's why I want you to _teach_ me." For Merlin's sake, the girl was predictable.

Harry grabbed both of her wrists, pushing her away slightly. She pouted, her lips pressing forward grotesquely. I had never understood why all of the young women thought such behavior was becoming. It made them wholly unattractive. So brazen in their attempts to gain attention. I frowned, even though they couldn't see it.

"Look, Miss Swan –"

"Isabella." Harry swallowed again. That boy must produce more saliva than a common mutt. My eyes rolled around in their sockets again. The back of my skull, from the inside of my head no less, was beginning to look far more appealing than the scene unfolding before me. I could have simply floated away, but I was determined not to let the boy throw away his entire future on this witch.

"_Miss Swan_." The flirtatious look fell from her face at the severity in his voice. I was delighted that he had finally put his foot down, but I could have gone through another millennium without feeling the sickly flow of dark magic that surrounded Harry as he moved them both away from the wall. "I am a married wizard." She hummed and leaned her weight against him, pushing him back against the castle wall. "Madam!" The witch shushed him, placing a finger against his lips. She leaned forward, clearly intent on kissing him.

Her mistake was when she closed her eyes. She might have actually gotten her lips pressed against his if she hadn't. But since she did, the moment before she made contact, he moved to his left, releasing her wrists. I'd never been more glad to be a ghost as when her lips connected with mine. Since I was already dead, I couldn't taste anything, so I wouldn't have to remember the moment for the rest of my days on the earth. It was actually enough to make me consider moving on, leaving this shallow path I'd chosen as a pale imitation of life.

I would, though, long cherish the look on her face when she opened her eyes. Oh, I have no doubt that my own eyes reflected the shock I felt when she fell forward. But her own showed an entire gamut of emotions that made the experience worth it. Anger, shame, fear – the last I suppose because she thought she might have been discovered for the little viper I thought her to be. Regardless, the look on her face as she scurried back from the wall, hand covering her mouth, was well worth my fleeting discomfort.

Harry did his best to stifle his laughter. He was classy enough to not want to embarrass the child. He coughed into his hand, carefully wiping the smile from his face before turning to her. "Are you all right?" She nodded, but kept her distance from him. "Why don't we just forget that this happened, Miss Swan?" Her head bobbed rapidly, and she stepped away from him. I'd foolishly thought, when she walked into the dark recesses of the corridor, that the entire fiasco was over. I couldn't have been more mistaken.

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><p><em><em>My apologies for the delay in posting. I've been very ill of late.<br>Please do leave a review and let me know what you thought of this chapter.__


	13. XIII: Emmett

__Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Twilight. I make no profit from this work of fiction.__

__**Author's note**____: ____I want to thank everyone for taking the time to read this tale.__

__Litanolastar____ – I appreciate very much that you've been a loyal reviewer. Thank you.__

__Review responses – and any announcements – will be posted here: (FB URL) /pages/RogueMudblood/684906514892205__

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><p>I hadn't been too happy to get a summons to England. Of all places. But I'd never let my family down if I could help it at all. So to England I went, glad to know that there would be sufficient cloud cover. At least I wouldn't have to worry about the Volturi guards appearing suddenly and inexplicably. Well, until I met up with Edward. That idiot had managed to bring their ire down on his head when he went tearing through Forks. Carlisle had called in a lot of favors to convince them to leave Edward to his own devices. It hadn't hurt that he could point to the fact that there were clearly other parties involved in this particular situation. I'd have been lying if I said that didn't cause me a bit of concern.<p>

Werewolves were one thing. We'd been in close quarters with them in Forks, so I was fairly certain I knew how to deal with their kind when the time came. I wasn't quite certain what I would do about the magic wielders, though. Growing up in Gatlinburg, I had a southern education. Part of that was being raised with the Old Testament, and it didn't take much reading there to know that magic was viewed as evil. I was already assured a place in hell, if those Christian teachings were to be believed. But that didn't mean I wanted to try to figure out how to handle an angry wizard. Unfortunately, thanks to Edward and his obsession with finding a woman who obviously didn't want to be found, I might have to do just that.

While riding on the Eurostar, I had plenty of idle time to think. If it weren't for the fact that I didn't want my clothes to get wet – and I didn't want to explain rising out of the ocean to whomever might be waiting on the beach, I'd have run on the ocean floor. It would have taken a lot less time to make it from the continent to the island. The last thing any of us wanted after having to deter the Volturi from going after Edward was to have them come down on us for another reason. I certainly wasn't keen on the idea of tracking down Bella while avoiding the vampire elite's chosen police force. So, the train it was for me, and the thing couldn't possibly come into the station soon enough.

The human scent permeated the car. I could feel my pupils dilating as my irises darkened. Hunger was starting to settle in. Agitated, I began to pace the length of the car which only irritated some of the other passengers. I was glad it wasn't New York. I'd have been in handcuffs and probably have to explain why I didn't have bruises on my face by the time I got to the police station. As it was, I kept my pacing as non-threatening as I could. I certainly didn't want to be detained by Scotland Yard or Interpol. But I certainly wasn't going to test myself by standing in one spot, waiting on the hunger to take over completely.

When we finally pulled in to the station, I waited for all of them to get off the train, closing my eyes and refusing to breathe. It wasn't like I needed to inhale, the practice simply came naturally given how we hid ourselves among the mortals. I didn't open my eyes until the conductor prodded me.

"Oy. Mate. You need some 'elp?"

I resisted the urge to open my mouth and scare him with a flash of fangs. He might write it off as a kid hyped up on drugs – which he would no doubt think I was given how dark my eyes certainly were, but I didn't want to take any chances. I just opened my eyes slightly and gave him a small grin. "I'm just a bit tired."

He smiled broadly at me. "American, eh? Jet-lagged then, I'd wager." He placed an arm around my shoulders, escorting me from the car to the platform. I knew I needed to breathe, or he'd become suspicious. I did my best not to take in his scent. Still, I couldn't help but taste the tang of his blood on my tongue as it wafted to me. "Well, you'll feel right as rain once you get to yer 'otel, mate." Once we were on the platform, I heard the train doors swish closed. He gave me a hearty pat on the back before walking away, leaving me standing in a milling crowd. I stopped breathing quickly.

Pulling a sheet of paper from my back pocket, I pretended to read it as I closed my eyes, doing my best to block out the odors around me. My mind whirred, a thousand thoughts floating through, no one in particular standing out from the rest for several minutes. I must have stood there for several minutes amidst the bustling people traveling on the concourse. When I finally opened my eyes, I knew that they were still black. I was thankful no one seemed to be looking in my direction. Likely they thought I was reading directions or a map. That was one of the benefits of being a vampire though. I hadn't needed written directions for the whole of my life, something that I noticed the mortals needed quite regularly.

Trying not to breathe, I made my way through the crowd to the main entrance of the station. Though Carlisle's instructions had included information on a specific platform, I'd also been told I couldn't get in without the aid of one of these wizards. I had enough sense not to try – I might be a mountain boy, and we might be known for having hard heads, but that didn't mean I wanted to test my luck by running head first into stone.

Stepping out of the terminal, I couldn't have possibly been more grateful for the overcast English sky. I was careful to keep my pace within the speeds that mortals wouldn't question. From what I'd been told, traveling would be much simpler once I'd gotten in touch with Carlisle's contact. I certainly wouldn't have to worry about being too fast – they'd told me that these wizards could travel long distances in a blink. I just hoped they didn't try to take me along with them. It had taken me long enough to get myself used to things outside of the mountains. The only thing that made me try, to be honest, was Rosalie. So, in that respect, I could understand Edward's obsession. But why did he had to get himself involved with this woman?

I stuffed my hands into my pockets as I made my way down the street. Too many thoughts were swirling in my head. One of the biggest problems with being a vampire was the incessant mental noise. If there was one thing I missed about my simple life back in Tennessee, it was the quiet moments. Letting myself get lost in those memories couldn't bode well. I shook my head slightly to dislodge the thoughts, focusing instead on my surroundings and the mental map I had of where I needed to meet my contact. Trust Carlisle to know someone everywhere in the world.

It didn't take long to reach the street where I'd been told to stop and have a smoke. I had to try really hard to keep from showing my disgust. I never had understood the appeal of the tiny little cancer sticks. I'd barely gotten the thing lit before I had company.

"Gitanes?" I grunted, letting my eyes fall closed to slits. The small window of vision was more than enough. "Those taste awful, you know."

I snorted, lightly tossing the cigarette to the ground before stubbing it out. "I've yet to find a brand that I can stomach."

He grinned. "It can take a while to get used to them, Mister Cullen." I turned to face him, letting my eyes open completely. "Ooh. Let's get you some lunch, yeah?" He certainly made it clear he was my intended contact, even if I hadn't been given a photograph of him. I nodded, following him further into the alley. "Just stay with me." I tensed, but I hadn't thought he would be able to see it. His reaction let me know that he was far more than what he appeared. "I'm not going to side-along you. Don't worry."

A thin stick, about a foot long, slipped from his sleeve. I raised an eyebrow, but watched in silence as he waved it through the air. If I'd been human, I would have started rubbing my eyes as I watched the air shimmer. I almost didn't believe I was seeing what was in front of me. My enhanced senses told me that the second world I could see just beyond the brick wall he had touched was no figment. I knew some surprise had to be showing on my face, but I did my best to keep from gawking like a country bumpkin. There were always moments like these, though, that made me remember just how it felt to be as out of touch with the world as I'd been in those mountains.

He stepped back, a large grin spread across his face as he waved his arm, gesturing for me to enter the hole he'd created in the wall. I couldn't really help the 'little boy lost' look that plastered itself on my face just staring through the opening. He'd had to prod me a bit eventually to get me to step through. When the portal had sealed itself behind us, I'd been understandably surprised. He just gave me a tight smile and gestured me onward. I didn't budge though. Carlisle had told me to trust them, but I had never been a dumb country boy, even though I had lived in the mountains. I wasn't going anywhere unless he walked beside me. Even as the thought crossed my mind he gave me a half smile and a nod, stepping ahead of me to lead the way. I took a few rapid strides to catch up with him, staying beside him as we traveled down the street in backwater who-knows-where.

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><p>To say I'd been shocked at walking through a city-behind-a-city would be an understatement. Whatever feeling had passed through me then, though, paled when compared to what I felt staring into the various kettles set up around the room. They'd ushered me in a cavernous room, placed one of those sticks next to my temple and asked me to think about Bella. Well, that hadn't been hard, but I'd nearly fallen over when they started pulling that thin silvery strand out of my head. My mother must've rolled over in her grave at the language I'd used.<p>

They'd taken that silver wispy thread and put it into one of the kettles. When I looked in, I could see Bella, clear as a mountain morning, staring right back at me just the way she had the day she'd come to Forks. They'd had to explain everything to me then. I'd been a little forceful with my insistence on knowing exactly what I was looking at. The large crater in the wall attested to that.

Of course, they'd been equally forceful in defending themselves. It was a funny thing for them, though, finding out that the magic they relied on didn't work the same way on me as it did other vampires. I just chalked it up to being vegetarian for so long. Or it might've had something to do with the critter my guide had given me to eat. He'd said it was a kneazle, but it looked just like any other ol' mountain lion to me. A mite smaller, but not much. I'd never much cared for smaller dishes, but I wasn't going to be picky when I was their guest. That didn't stop me from sneaking one of those hedgehog things. The damned thing had tried to gnaw my fingers off when I'd picked it up – after it got over its shock. It had been a pretty tasty dessert, though, so I couldn't complain too much.

Either way, something was keeping their magic from working on me the way they expected. Which was great for me, but not so much for them. Once they'd managed to clam me down, though, we'd come to an understanding. They'd tell me what it was they planned to do with the little silver strands they wanted from my head and I wouldn't destroy their equipment or look at them like they'd make a tasty lunch. I'd smirked at their second stipulation but agreed. No need for them to know I had no intentions of giving up my diet when I could just as easily snap their necks if they became a threat.

I had no idea how long I'd been sitting there while they looked in those kettles they kept putting silver threads in until something happened. It seemed like forever, but – to be fair – everything tended to feel that way when it came to mortals. The noise startled me at first. A flick of one of those sticks had a map of the United Kingdom popping up in the middle of the room. It was a see-through map, but that didn't detract from its readability. A little blip showed faintly somewhere in Scotland. It was only a fraction of a second, so quick that a blink would have kept it from being seen. It had, in fact.

"Weird." The voice came from my guide. He was looking from the map back to the kettle, scratching his head.

Before I could ask him what he meant, I felt the air being sucked into the corner of the room. I'd never been much for science, but I could imagine that if there was an account anywhere of what happened when a black hole opened, it would include the sensations I was feeling. The hairs on my arm stood on end and I could feel the chill coming over my skin. For a vampire, that's saying something. My ears felt heavy with cotton even through the ringing that seemed to echo in my head.

When I turned my head to that corner, it seemed as though time were moving in slow-motion. For me, that was an eerie feeling. I hadn't known that sensation since the day I met Rosalie. I wasn't sure if it was because something was about to happen that would alter my entire existence, or if it was simply a physiological reaction to the atmosphere changing so radically. Those moments seemed to take forever to pass, a vortex of color seeming to form in an almost pixellated fashion, resolving itself to something recognizable in the slowest manner possible. As it coalesced into a familiar form, I was shocked to see Edward crouching on the floor, holding some object in his hand.

"Ah. You did make it through." My guide had turned to see what had captured my attention. Oddly enough, he didn't see anything unusual about a vampire appearing from nothing. My country roots betrayed me as I stared from him back to Edward, my mouth having fallen open.

Gathering what little of my wits remained, I finally spoke. "Pardon my impertinence." Edward's eyebrow nearly went into his hairline as he looked at me. He'd finally gained his feet after using the wall to lift himself from the floor. "But how the hell did you get here?"

Edward smirked. "Well, you haven't reverted completely."

"How can you tell?" The muttered question came from the woman standing to my left. She'd walked over when she realized that the kettle had produced the map, even though she couldn't see anything on it. When my head swiveled to her, she had the grace to blush. "I mean, with that accent, and all."

I tilted my head to the right. It had been a long time since I'd even noticed my drawl, and even longer since anyone had bothered to comment about it. I couldn't help the boyish grin that came to my face. Somehow, that caused her to blush to darken. I could hear Edward's snickers, even though I knew none of the others could. Finally taking pity on them, Edward answered my question.

"They called it a port key. I don't know why. This isn't really a port." He held the object in his palm, looking down to it and turning it over. I glanced down to it, my eyebrows drawing together as I studied it.

"No... And that's not a key." For some reason, my comment caused a reaction among our hosts. The laughter filling the room was grating in volume, but I couldn't be angry at them. I'd have certainly been the same way if they'd popped into Appalachia. I might still be that way, but I doubted that even the residents there would understand some of the words we once used on a daily basis.

Finally getting herself under control, the woman closest to me placed her hand lightly on my left forearm, giggling one last time before speaking. "It's a method of transport. Basically, it was the easiest and quickest way to get him here. Since we already had you here and were already looking for... Bella, is it?" I nodded briefly. She released her hold on my arm, her blush returning quickly. "Right. Well, it didn't make much sense to have him start the process all over in another city when we could just bring him here."

I gave her a broad smile, watching her cheeks darken even more. "Of course." I motioned with my right arm to the map still hovering in the room. "So why did a blip show up on this one?"

All signs of embarrassment quickly evaporated. She waved that stick in her hand, staring at the map. The blip happened again, very quickly. Edward's muscles tensed and he moved forward, stopping just short of grabbing the woman by her shoulders and shaking her in his demand for answers. She seemed distressed that there was nothing showing on the map as far as she could see. It suddenly dawned on me that Bella was hiding – or being hidden. And for some reason, this was not working the way it should. Whatever method they were using to find her, which for some reason required me to focus my thoughts on her, it was only able to produce this small blip to let us know where she was.

Her eyebrows drew together as her mouth turned down in a severe frown. "I'm not seeing anything."

Edward's face was void of all emotion. I cleared my throat gently, and the woman looked away from the map. "If I show you where I saw the blip, can you tell us where that is?"

"But if it was just a fluctuation of light..." Her voice trailed as a grin spread over my face.

"Don't worry." I could hear the country twang in my voice and fought not to cringe. She didn't laugh, though the corner of her mouth quirked up just a bit. "My eyes don't play tricks on me."

"I bet they don't." She had turned her face away before muttering. Even though I wasn't meant to hear that last bit, it had come through to my ears clearly. Edward's as well. He didn't even try to resist snickering. I just crossed my arms over my chest and rolled my eyes.

She turned back to the map, having grabbed a small glass jar of something. Waving that stick again, she thrust the glass towards the map floating between us. Liquid cam flying out, bubbling and purple. It looked like melted candy. I reacted just like anyone else faced with possibly being splashed by something that was boiling – I moved. The only difference was that I could move faster than they could see, so I was across the room and behind her by the time the liquid connected with the map. It didn't fall through it, though. It lingered in the air, sliding down and coating the face of the United Kingdom in a sticky, oozing violet. I saw Edward raise an eyebrow and had no doubt he was reading my thoughts.

"Well." She put her hands on her hips, an interesting position given that one was holding a glass tube. "It seems that..." She leaned over to peer around the map. From my position, I couldn't see her face, but the twitches of Edward's mouth let me know he found the confusion that must have been reflected there comical. "Where'd he go?"

I couldn't help it. My momma had raised me to be a gentleman, but even she had known that no boy could pass up a good joke. I leaned forward so that my mouth was scant inches from her ear. "Boo."

She jumped, every muscle in her body tense as she turned to me. That stick in her hand was glowing at one end, and the arm holding it had started to rise. A blink later and the light vanished, but she had a wicked smile on her face. She didn't say anything, just turned back to the map. "As I was going to say, you didn't imagine the blip, it's just that the trace is so faint. If I had to guess, I'd say she's under some heavy protective magic."

"That's good to know." Edward stepped forward. I tilted my head to the left as I looked at him through the purple -covered map. He looked weird. I saw his lips quirk again, and raised an eyebrow, but he didn't give any other signs of having read my thoughts. "But where is she?"

The girl's blush was back. "Oh! Sorry. She's in Hogsmeade. Wonderful little village in Scotland."

I nodded, shifting to step out from behind her – and that's when I realized why Edward had only smirked. The jingle that sounded was clear. I slowly looked down, and even I couldn't stop a chuckle at seeing the bell suspended in the air just in front of my neck. It gave a whole new meaning to the phrase 'making your own music'. I wondered briefly how Rosalie would react if I wore one while... I let my thoughts break off at the sound Edward made. I smirked at him before turning back to the woman in who was gracing me with her own mischievous smile.

"It's cute, but I do need you to take it off." She nodded, and with a swish of that stick it was gone. "Where can I get me one of those?"

Her smile softened. "It wouldn't work for you, I'm afraid."

I nodded. "Shame." I let my mind wander to running through the woods with nothing but bells on. Edward growled.

"Enough banter. How do we get there?" It wasn't really a question. Edward was willing to run from hither to dale to get to her. If it had been Rosalie, I would have felt the same. Though I might have already been off, and not standing around waiting on them to tell me the best route.

My guide from earlier stepped out of the shadows, holding a large copper lid. "You have thirty seconds. When both of you grab this, it will take you to Hogsmeade." We moved quickly, Edward grabbing the lid as I made my way to him. We both went to the corner where he'd appeared, not wanting to take any chances on anything possibly getting sucked into the void with us.

"Hang on." Edward's muttered words lingered in the air as the half minute passed at an interminably slow pace. When it happened, I wished I'd asked what he had meant by that. My ears popped as the pressure around me increased. I felt my eyes widen as the air was ripped from my lungs in a rush. I might not have needed it to survive, but that didn't mean I hadn't grown used to being able to have it there. I felt my body twisting, and briefly considered letting go. Edward's sudden grip on my wrist kept me from doing so.

A blink and it was over. My ears popped again as the pressure returned, and even though I had been a vampire for many decades, I couldn't help the reflexive action of taking in a deep breath. It was a mistake, though. I swallowed to keep the meal from earlier down as it tried to make its way up. I was sprawled on my back in the alley where we'd appeared, looking up at Edward. He was grinning down at me. He offered his hand, which I took in my own and squeezed rather violently as I pulled myself up.

"That wasn't funny."

Edward titled his head to the right, humming a bit as I turned my attention from him, dusting myself off. "Yeah. Yeah, it was." I looked back up at him, gracing him with a glare. He just smiled. "All right. I didn't have you there to witness my first bout with the things." His eyes glazed a bit for a brief moment before he shook his head, bringing himself out of whatever memory he'd entertained. "Enough of that." He'd been ready to say something more, but the wind carried a scent to us. We'd both caught the whiff, and neither of us wasted any time following it.

In the overcast day, we looked just like any of the other shoppers. Forever caught in the youth of our lives, they would mistake us easily for students as all mortals did. I tried to blend in to the crowd a bit, but Edward pressed on, the furrowed brow and deeply set frown giving him the air of someone who was scorned. Just as we passed the gag gift shop – and I'd have to get in there before we left this place – I understood why.

Somehow, he'd sensed something I hadn't on that whiff of her scent the wind had brought to us. Perhaps that was because he was more attuned to her pheromones. I was only trying to locate her. We both drew up short, however, as she walked out, a wizard who was undoubtedly her teacher escorting her. The man wore glasses and had a scar on his forehead. His hair wasn't the neatest, but he was certainly well-kept otherwise. And though I could certainly smell reluctance and resistance from him, it was easy to see that he wouldn't be able to hold out forever. Especially not with the amount of energy Bella was putting into her coquettish seduction.

This close, even a mortal would be able to smell her raging hormones. For some reason, she'd set her sights on this wizard, and she intended to have him at all costs. A glance at Edward told me he was barely keeping it together. He wanted to rip that man's head from his body and act just as James would have if he had gotten the chance to really gut Bella. If his own lack of intent hadn't been apparent, even Edward's reasoning wouldn't have kept him from acting on that impulse.

Regardless, I placed my hand on Edward's arm. A feeble gesture, but one he would hopefully understand. Since he didn't leap out at the pair, I'd briefly thought he had. The thought left as quickly as it came as I caught sight of the man who exited the store behind them. He could have been Edward's older twin. The hair, the eyes... Even the body structure was uncannily similar. Leaving all reason behind him, Edward shrugged off my hand and walked up to the man, turning him so that they faced each other. The word that spilled over his lips was ripped away violently by the wind, but the shock on both of their faces let me know I hadn't imagined hearing it. Edward's voice had been barely more than the softest whisper of air, but the sound had most certainly been real, as had the confusion laced in the question.

"Father?"

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><p><em><em>If you've made it this far, I'd welcome a review with your thoughts.<br>Also, yes, I know the hedgehog is called a knarl. Emmett doesn't though. ;)__


	14. XIV: Ginny

__Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Twilight. I make no profit from this work of fiction.__

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__**One brief note**____: Not everything the characters assume is the reality of the situation.__

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><p>"I've been worried about Harry lately."<p>

The sound of a deep breath being slowly exhaled met my statement. I could understand _why_ everyone wrote everything off for the past couple of weeks, but that didn't mean my concerns weren't valid.

Hearing the dishes being slowly set into place behind me, I knew what I was about to hear. I mouthed the words as Ron spoke them. "I'm sure it's nothing, Ginny." I _hated_ hearing that. Having my feelings dismissed just because I happened to be pregnant was _really_ irritating. "I understand that his being away some nights is hard on you right now, but I'm sure everything is fine."

I snapped the celery in half the way I wanted to snap my brother's neck. "_Some_ nights?" I didn't bother picking up the vegetable knife Hermione had bought for me. I just snapped the stalk into small pieces, dropping them into the soup. I'd stopped cooking with spells during the fourth month of my pregnancy. Hermione had introduced me to Muggle cooking in an effort to channel my emotions. It had worked brilliantly, even I had to admit that.

"Look, if you're really worried, why don't we go visit him at Hogwarts tomorrow?" Ron's question was stilted, like he didn't really want to ask it, but he didn't see any other option. But since he _had_ suggested it, I grinned broadly. I turned my head to look slightly over my shoulder at him. Watching him gulp gave me quite a sadistic thrill, I had to admit. "I-if you want. That is?" I could feel my grin widening as he became increasingly uncomfortable.

"_Of course_ I do, brother dear." I'm sure my teeth flashed at him, but I'm not sure it was predatory. I couldn't help but hope that it was. "Besides, it'll do us both good to see Minerva." I gave him a single nod before turning back to the soup pot. I heard him sigh. I couldn't tell, with my back to him, whether it was a sigh of relief or frustration. Rather, I didn't want to tell. "And Hermione told me she had an interesting meeting with Malfoy when she was there last."

Choking coughs floated across the room to me. I knew it was cruel, but I really didn't care right then. Of all of my relatives, he'd been the most dismissive of my pregnancy. Oh, sure, he was all too thrilled to have another niece or nephew on the way. He'd even made several comments to Hermione about the fact that she wasn't pregnant yet. _That_ had almost torn an irreparable rift in my already rocky relationship with her. The one thing that Ron had never learned was how to keep his foot out of his mouth. Which was a dangerous failing to have around a pregnant woman. I didn't even bother to hide the sadistic grin creeping on my face as I set the spoon to stirring the soup.

Turning back to face him, I found my brother practically leaning on one of the chairs for support. His face was paler than I had seen it in many years, his freckles showing in sharp relief. He'd set the table for three. We'd long given up the pretense of saving a place for Harry 'just in case'. My husband hadn't shown up for dinner at the house since the term had started. I couldn't help but be irritated by it, and Ron had more than noticed. He never had stopped trying to keep the peace between us since I graduated from Hogwarts. We'd had more than one row that had made the papers, and I knew Ron was worried that this situation was brewing into another newsworthy affair. For my part, I was angry enough to justify his concern. My brow was furrowed, my left hand was parked on my hip, and my right hand was pointing at him, ready to let him hear my latest grievances with Harry.

A knock on the door quickly deflated me. I glared at Ron as he skittered to answer it. He'd have done anything to keep himself from feeling my wrath. He wasn't the only one of my brothers to make a comparison of my temper to my mother's. Ron's bumbling words tended to be quite a bit more scathing than any of my other siblings. He was wringing his hands when he came back in the room, a wobbly smile faltering from his face as he glanced from me back towards his wife. Hermione had entered the kitchen, stopping just inside the door. She held a chocolate pie in her hands, one of the most delicious Muggle concoctions that she'd introduced us to. I gave her a tight smile, which she returned. She seemed to completely understand the tension, and neither of us really did anything to try to dissipate it while I served the soup.

Hermione waved her wand quickly when Ron started to reach for the bread, whatever spell she cast setting it to slicing and serving itself. I had to lower my head so he wouldn't see the smirk on my face. So interesting that she didn't even trust him to do something so basic as cutting the bread without screwing it up. And he wondered why she didn't want to have his kid. Clearing my throat gently, I glanced back up to find them both looking at me. I simply shook my head. The rest of the meal passed in relative silence, a far dry from the norm for us.

When we were putting away the dishes, Hermione leaned back against the counter as she held the stack of plates and bowls for me to put away. The look on her face said she clearly had some information. Her reluctance to share it told me that she felt that either I wouldn't believe her, or my brother would kick up a fuss. Standing there, the only thing I hoped was that whatever she wanted to tell me didn't involve having seen my husband with another woman.

The giggle that escaped her told me she'd been practicing her Legilimency. "Nothing like that, Gin. But I do have something you need to hear. And soon." I put away the last of the dishes, closing the cabinet door. Turning to her, I folded my arms over my chest. "Meet me for breakfast."

"Hermione, you ready?" Ron's voice rang out from the other room. "Surely you gals have gotten the cleaning done by now."

I could feel my face turning red as my irritation at him rose. Hermione placed her hand on my arm gently. "Tomorrow. At Dan's in Muggle London." I nodded, giving her a strained smile as she left. I heard the door close shortly after and swished my wand to set the wards. I didn't want any other visitors tonight. What I wanted was to know why my husband was throwing his family away. Especially when he'd said for so long all he wanted was a family of his own.

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><p>When I walked into Dan's, I was surprised at how kind all the Muggles were. I suppose I'd gotten just a touch snooty after graduation. Or it might have been that they were nicer to pregnant women. Wizards didn't tend to change their behavior around a witch no matter her 'condition'. But these Muggles... One held the door open for me, one escorted me to my chair and pulled it out, another laid my napkin across my lap and asked me what I wanted to drink... I smiled at each and thanked them, each one telling me it was 'no trouble'. I looked up after the last one left to see Hermione's brown eyes smiling at me.<p>

They twinkled in a manner much akin to Dumbledore's, and I found myself both sad and angry at being reminded of him. Pushing the thoughts aside, I smirked at her as she took a sip of her morning tea. "So what couldn't you tell me last night with my brother around?"

I wasn't sure at first if I'd imagined the shaking of her hand, but as the tea drop spilled over the edge of the cup when she returned it to the saucer, I knew I hadn't. Frowning, I looked up to her face, wondering what exactly it was she was hiding. She cleared her throat softly before she spoke.

"I know Ron and Harry have told you about Malfoy Manor. About what happened there. About the drawing room." I had to strain to hear her, she spoke so softly. She wasn't looking at me as she spoke. Instead she was staring down at her plate and wringing the napkin in her hands, twisting the cloth tightly. "You weren't there, though, so you really can't understand. And Harry doesn't believe me." She lifted her cup with a shaking hand, the tea sloshing over the rim twice before she gave it up and set it back down.

When she lifted her face and her eyes met mine, I could see she was truly haunted by whatever she was about to tell me. The boys didn't like to talk about those days. And really, neither did she. No matter how often I'd asked the three of them, they'd clammed up pretty tight about that year on the run. Especially when it came to what happened when the Snatchers grabbed them. Judging from her reaction right now, I was finally getting a glimpse as to _why_ they never wanted to discuss it.

"She had a kid, Ginny."

I blinked. It was the only response I could have under the circumstances. I really wasn't sure what to think, after all. Somewhere, I'd lost track of the conversation. I had no idea what woman she was talking about, or why someone having a kid should be such a shock. But, knowing Hermione, she'd make it clear. I just had to bite my tongue and wait a few minutes for her to do so.

When her hands finally stopped shaking so violently that even the table – at one point – had rocked on its legs, she took a drink of her tea. I raised an eyebrow, briefly wondering if there was anything in the cup to fortify her courage. She snickered. "No, I'm not quite that far gone." She set the cup back on the saucer. "Bellatrix nearly killed me, Gin. I can still feel the knife, resting against my throat, whenever I think on that moment. And it terrifies me that it's still so real to me, that I can't escape it." She took another sip of the tea, and to be polite I took a sip of my own. The waiter had been very quiet when he'd come. I'd hardly noticed him arrive and leave. I daresay that was her reason for making this her favorite Muggle restaurant. The help knew what it meant to keep mum.

She set the cup down once more, a small motion of one finger signaling the waiter to come over and bring another. Once the fresh cup was set in front of her and the waiter had stepped away, she took a deep breath and set her palms flat against the tabletop. I knew she meant to tell all then.

"I haven't yet figured out who the father is, or how she managed to get pregnant. But some time, when she was in Azkaban, Bellatrix had a child. A daughter." She looked down briefly before looking up at me again. I couldn't help the increase in my heartbeat. I tensed waiting on her to drop whatever bombshell she'd been holding back. "No magical training. Not a single wand, no outbursts that I've been able to find out about. Yet somehow, she's shown up here, able to do magic well enough to be enrolled in the sixth year courses at Hogwarts." My muscles were knotting waiting on her to finally tell me what was so important. She fell silent, though.

I'd never been a patient woman. I came by it honestly – my mum was one of the most temperamental witches in all of England. Well, of those who were still considered sane. "Hermione, I faced that bitch down myself. I know exactly how terrifying she was. Tell me what's got you in knots, yeah?"

Watching her take a deep breath, I couldn't help an exasperated sigh. "She's the spitting image of Bellatrix. Looks absolutely the same. And all my questioning has been able to turn up is that it seems like she's holding back in class. Ginny... What if, somehow, she was able to reincarnate herself?"

My jaw nearly dropped to the table. "Hermione, there's no way that she would have been able to in the moments between when she was dueling me and when mum came into it–"

"Gin, think about it!" She was nearly hysterical. I'd never seen her so unraveled. Whatever she'd been looking into definitely upset her. "_If_ Voldemort wanted to know whether a spell would work, who better to test it on than one of his own that he _knew_ would be targeted by us? And if he did... If he did, is he really dead? Because in that moment, that final moment when it was just him an' Harry... What if he..." Her voice trailed. My hands were shaking at the possibility she was presenting. Merlin knew we didn't need a third war with that bastard at the center of it.

I leaned forward, careful to keep my voice as quiet as possible. Even if Hermione had cast Muffliato, some habits were impossible to shake. "Have you mentioned this to Harry?"

She shook her head. "He won't listen. He won't even entertain the idea that she's Bellatrix's daughter. But Malfoy knows. _He_ certainly isn't confused about the girl's parentage. But Harry's right about one thing. If she wasn't born while Bellatrix was in Azkaban, then she'd have to be a clone."

My brow furrowed with my confusion. "A clone?" I'd never heard of such an odd thing, and I'd been spending a great deal of time lately reading various Muggle books, trying to learn more about Harry's culture before he learned he was a wizard.

Waving her hand dismissively, Hermione took another sip before answering. "A Muggle thing – making a duplicate from existing living material."

"Why on earth?" My lips turned down in a severe frown. Muggles were strange creatures.

She gave a wan smile, one that I had seen many times when there was no good answer to the question. "Because they can." She took another sip. "Voldemort knew about many Muggle things – it's entirely possible he kept up with Muggle science just as easily as I did. If he had, then he could easily have taken Bellatrix to a Muggle cloning facility, even though human clones aren't permitted in most countries. But that wouldn't have stopped him."

I took a long sip from my teacup, holding it in both hands to make sure I didn't drop the dish. When I'd drained the cup, I set it back down in the saucer. "No, it wouldn't have. But are you sure she's a clone?"

Hermione shook her head. "I haven't talked to her. I have no idea _what_ she is, other than a dead ringer for Bellatrix Lestrange."

Staring at the tabletop for several moments in consideration, I finally nodded. "Let's go talk to Harry. They're in Hogsmeade today. I talked to Minerva last week by Floo and got their schedules since he hasn't been coming home. If he won't listen to your concerns, he'll at least tell me something about this girl." I waited for her to nod before pushing back from the table enough to stand from the chair. The waiter was there in a moment to help me up. I couldn't help the blush that crept up my neck. After all, I certainly wasn't accustomed to this much attention.

Hermione chuckled as she looped her arm through mine, handing the man a bill. "I thank you, sir, but I'll see to her from here."

"Very good, madam." He executed a bow very neatly in the confined space, and I reflexively inclined my head back to him.

Hermione had plastered a grin to her face as she escorted me out, walking me down the sidewalk once we were free from the restaurant. The sheer number of people walking in Muggle London always surprised me, and I could have easily gotten lost in the crowd if Hermione hadn't been guiding me along. I simply let her lead me as we made our way to an alley. When she wrapped her arm around me, pulling out her wand, I was still distracted by the people milling about in the street a short distance from us. She chuckled softly as she turned us, the scene around us changing and twisting quickly. I felt my stomach tumbling over violently as it had when I was in my first few months of pregnancy. I suddenly understood why they discouraged us pregnant witches from apparating. I didn't even try to avoid Hermione's shoes when we landed in Hogsmeade. She could vanish the mess for all I cared, but she'd done this to me, she was going to reap the rewards of these particular actions.

She didn't say anything, but I could see her trying to move her feet back as I looked like I was about to heave a second time. I grabbed her elbow, and to her credit she did offer me a supporting hand. After several minutes passed, I did finally stop vomiting. "You ready for the second jaunt?" My head snapped up when she asked that, but I didn't have time to make any kind of retort before she spun us again. I'd never been so irritated that Hogsmeade was so far from London.

When we finally made it to Hogsmeade, I was dry heaving. There wasn't anything left of the few sips of tea, and I was incredibly grateful that I hadn't actually eaten anything. Hermione was good enough not to laugh in my face at my body's reaction to the trip even if it was quite clear that she found my misfortune amusing. The only thing that saved her from my infamous Bat Bogey Hex was the sound of my husband's voice coming toward us.

Looking up, I felt by breath catch in my throat. There was no denying this girl was related to Bellatrix. Seeing her with her hands on my Harry made my blood boil. A man behind them got their attention, allowing us to approach unnoticed. Hermione didn't even try to conceal her wand movements as she wove a spell about the girl. I simply shook my head, doing my best to keep from making any noise until she let me know she was done. I couldn't help but glare at the presumptuous witch hanging on Harry's arm in the meantime, though.

By the time Hermione had finally nodded at me, she'd let go of Harry's arm and walked towards the men who seemed to be experiencing a case of mistaken identity. Their conversation didn't interest me. I let Hermione listen in on that while I walked over to Harry. Tapping him on the shoulder, I crossed my arms over my chest as I waited for him to turn and face me. When he did, I started a drum beat with my left foot, letting my right support my full weight. I felt my heart clench in my chest as the color drained from his face. I hadn't been sure that he was cheating on me, no matter how suspicious I'd been of his staying at the school. I felt my head spinning, even though I managed to stay upright and even continue the steady thud of my foot against the street.

"Ginny, are you okay?" My foot stopped its tapping. I raised an eyebrow, staring at my husband. He sounded genuinely concerned. "Your face is green, and you look like you've been sick." He swallowed visibly. "I-is something wrong with the baby?" I felt the knots in my stomach release. Maybe I had just imagined everything? "Ginny? Talk to me, please, sweetie."

Uncrossing my arms, I gently touched his face, letting my fingers trail down his cheek to his jawline. "The baby's fine, Harry." I let a gentle smile turn my lips up as I cupped his face in my hand. "I... I've been worried about you. You haven't been coming home at night..." I let my voice trail off as his fingers came up to trail along the back of my hand. He turned his head, kissing my palm.

"I've been tutoring the new student." Pivoting on his foot, he gestured to the girl who looked uncannily like Bellatrix. "Miss Swan has required special instruction." The voice in my head echoed the barely-audible snort I heard from Hermione. Apparently she was listening to both conversations. That certainly explained how she always seemed to know so much. "Minerva ordered the extra tutoring sessions, honey. I wouldn't have stayed away from you otherwise." He leaned in, giving me a kiss on the cheek. He blushed a bit, uncomfortable with displaying even such a little amount of affection in front of his students. "I'll talk to Minerva and see if we can't work something out so I can be home more during the week too."

I smiled and nodded, taking his hand in mine and cozying up next to him. "Since Hermione and I did make the trip, do you mind if we spend some time with you here in Hogsmeade?" He cleared his throat gently, the way he did when he was about to break bad news to me. "I realize you've been escorting her around. We don't mind." I turned a bit, raising my voice. "Do we, Hermione." It wasn't a question, and she grinned, a bit too darkly to keep Harry from being at least a little suspicious. But she'd already told him she was concerned about the girl's parentage. I turned back to Harry, trying to get his attention focused back on me. "And we'd get the chance to get to know at least one of your students better." The girl had walked back toward us, careful to keep her hands to herself. The smile she gave me was one of the smiles Narcissa Malfoy had always given my mother whenever they'd happened to cross each other in the street. It took every ounce of my self-control not to cast a few non-verbal hexes on her and let the Healers sort it all out.

"Besides, she'll get the opportunity to ask embarrassing questions about you." Hermione couldn't have timed her statement any better. Harry blushed and the girl's smile became slightly more genuine. "Ginny and I know quite a few things you probably don't want every student learning." It must have killed her to do it, and I made a mental note to ask her how she managed, but Hermione actually _winked_ at the girl. Looking past them I could see the men who had been embroiled in a serious debate actually preparing to attack each other. The girl noticed as well, her muscles tensing as she turned to address them.

Before she pivoted, she met my gaze. Her eyes, as they connected with mine, changed color and shape. In the blink of an eye, she went from a schoolgirl to someone that I would be a fool not to consider a viable enemy. Her irises flashed a brilliant crimson. Dark energy seemed to radiate from her. In that moment it was clear that she was declaring war on me. The malice in her glare gave me a very good idea who her father was. Whether Hermione had noticed I didn't know – I refused to take my gaze from the girl. Though the next few minutes would undoubtedly reveal quite a bit about her, the one thing I knew without any doubt was how Harry must have felt all those years. How he must still feel.

It didn't matter that she hadn't done anything to me yet. The promise was there. And I would never be able to close my eyes again without seeing that red stare glaring back at me.


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